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wandaslittlebird · 3 months ago

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Confessing (Alternate)

Mean!Stepmom!Wanda x Pervy!Reader

After months of spying on your stepmother, you’re finally caught and made to confess far more than you’d expected.

CW: Non-consensual spying, underwear stealing and other nefarious acts, mentions of masturbation, stepmom/stepdaughter, intense questioning, dacryphilia (kinda), humiliation, spanking, mommy kink, accidental orgasm, arousal tasting, allusion of oral (W receiving)

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: This is literally the exact same fic I posted yesterday but with a non g!p reader. The only things that have changed are the reader’s anatomy and the ending.

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, still mostly naked from the long shower you’d just taken. You stood up on your tippy toes in order to highlight the main attraction: your new lacy thong underwear.

You’d stolen them from your stepmother Wanda's wardrobe earlier while she was busy making dinner. When you’d found them, you just knew you had to have them.

It was the first time you’d ever stolen her panties to wear, and the act both scared and aroused you. It was one of the boldest moves you’d ever made in your months of silent admiration of Wanda.

Not to say that the stuff you’d been doing up until this was innocent or tame, by any means. This was just the furthest you’d ever pushed the envelope.

It’s not that you wanted to get caught, per se, but the risk was enticing. It was sort of like exhibitionism. The risk of being in public added excitement, but that didn’t mean you wanted to get arrested for public indecency.

“Honey! Dinner’s ready!” Wanda’s voice cut off your thoughts from the dining room.

You frowned, not ready to get dressed quite yet. Nonetheless, you shouted from the bathroom, “I’ll be down in a second!” before slipping on your plaid pajama pants and an old band t-shirt. It’s fine. You’d be nice and quick with dinner, then you could slip away to the privacy of your room for the rest of night. You had a better mirror in there anyway: a full body one that would solve this tip toe problem. Maybe you could even put on a bit of a fashion show for yourself, trying on all of your favorite bras and deciding which one made for the best set.

You took a deep breath, trying to mask your excitement. It was going to be a perfect night. All you had to do was make it through dinner first.

You walked nervously down the stairs into the dining room where you found Wanda dishing out pasta onto each of your plates. She offered you a gentle smile upon arrival. “Oh good, you made it. I was worried for a second there you’d make me eat alone. Just pasta tonight, nothing fancy. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, it’s no problem at all,’” you assured. “Anything you make will surely be delicious.” You tried to offer her the same smile she’d offered you, but it came out awkward and uneven. It was clear you were nervous. You cursed yourself for your inability to hide your feelings from her.

She tilted her head in slight confusion. “Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed.”

“I… uh… yeah I’m fine. I must’ve just taken a really hot shower,” you attempted to explain. She clearly wasn’t buying it. You shrank back in your chair a little bit. While it was sexy, the thin cut of the underwear wasn’t exactly comfortable. You shifted around as the fabric crept up into uncomfortable places.

“Are you sure?” she asked, unconvinced. “Let me feel your head.” She leaned over the table, giving you a clear view down the front of her shirt. Fuck. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath her blouse. You inhaled shakily, shifting even more obviously as you felt yourself grow wet at the sight of her.

She touched your head with the back of her hand. Her brows furrowed in confusion as your uncomfortable wiggling became more pronounced. “Darling, you seem terribly restless. What’s going on?” She was starting to catch on, at least, to the fact you were keeping something from her. Though she couldn’t pinpoint what it was, she was certain she could get it out of you. You were never very good at keeping secrets, especially not from her.

You scooted your chair backwards, determined to escape this situation as quickly as possible. “I… uh… Actually I am feeling a bit poorly. I better go up to my room.” You made a move to try and get up, but she grabbed your wrist before you could escape.

You turned to let her and you were met with a glare that nearly made you crumble. She looked at you like she was looking into your soul, like she was some sort of omnipotent goddess that already knew every secret you’d ever tried to keep. “Honey,” she said, voice even and emotionless, “I think we need to have a talk.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you collapsed back down into your seat. “I’m sorry, mommy,” you whispered tearfully. How could she possibly know? Did she see something by accident?

She smiled knowingly. She had you now. That poor little head of yours couldn’t come up with a lie right now no matter how hard you tried. She circled the table and squatted down next to your chair, squeezing your hand and soothingly rubbing your temple with her thumb. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s not mad. I just need you to tell me what happened, okay? It’s okay, you can tell mommy.”

You swallowed. So she didn’t know. If you played your cards right, you could still make it out of this. Subconsciously, you crossed your legs, squeezing them tightly together to hide yourself from her. It was a painfully obvious move, but her soft voice and her hand on your head were making it so very hard to think clearly.

Wanda smirked and ran her hand up the side of your hip. Whatever you were hiding was somewhere in here.

Her hand slid over the fabric of your baggy pajama pants. Oddly enough, she couldn’t feel any underwear underneath the pants. Your secret wasn’t just that you weren’t wearing underwear, was it? No. As her hand got further up your waist, she felt them. It was different from anything she’d ever known you to wear. The fabric didn’t make its way around your waist until it was up over your hip bones.

“Honey,” she said calmly. “What are you wearing under your pajamas?”

Your mouth went dry and you froze, unsure how to answer her question. You decided it was best to play dumb. “W-what do you mean? Underwear.”

“Oh come on now darling,” she said, voice soft but slightly perturbed. “You know what I’m talking about. What underwear are you wearing right now?”

Your eyes darted around the room, avoiding her gaze at all cost. She wasn’t going to check if you lied, was she? “Just my… white cotton ones.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, unconvinced. “Do you mind if I lift up your shirt so I can make sure?”

Your hands flew to your waist, pinning your shirt to your body. “I… uh… I don’t feel comfortable showing you my underwear.”

She pursed her lips, annoyed with your evasiveness. She had started to believe that her soft mommy act wasn’t going to cut it, if she really wanted you to confess. “Darling, I’ve seen you in your panties countless times before. Hell, I probably bought you those underwear. Why are you getting so bashful all the sudden?”

You curled up tighter. You knew she was on to you by this point, but the humiliation of revealing yourself was too much. “I just… I don’t wanna show you, okay?” Your bottom lip quivered, tears threatened to spill from your eyes.

Wanda stood up, pushing your chair back until it hit the wall. You gasped, looking up at her, frightened as she loomed over you menacingly. “Alright, darling. If you can’t be a good girl and tell mommy what’s going on, I’m going to have to pull you over my lap, push your pants down to your ankles, and spank you in whatever panties you’re wearing, okay? So I’ll ask you one more time. What. Underwear. Are. You. Wearing. Right. Now?”

Your eyes went wide. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. Your entire body started to shake as you stared up at her, frozen. Her gaze was harsh now, face unmoving as she waited on an answer.

Finally the dam broke. A cry ripped from your throat and tears poured down your face. You crumbled to pieces underneath her. “I’m not wearing my underwear, I’m wearing yours! I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have done it. And I know I shouldn’t have lied! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You sobbed.

She shrunk back down, squatting again on the floor in front of you. She could hardly hide the pleasure she got from watching you shake and sob underneath her. She took your hand in hers, wiping away your tears. “See, baby? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You melted into her hand. You were truly hers now. No more lying, no more games. No more thoughts in your precious little head aside from “do exactly what mommy tells you to do”. Any resistance you had had melted away.

“Can you tell mommy why you were wearing her panties, sweetheart?” She asked softly.

“I wanted to be pretty,” you cried weakly. “Like you.”

Wanda tilted her head. You had plenty of underwear of your own. She even let you get the fancy stuff sometimes. Certainly your own underwear collection was more expansive than hers. “Were your own pretty panties not working for you? You just had to steal some of mommy’s?”

You nodded. Your head was so jumbled it felt like the confessions were spilling out of you. “I see you through the door sometimes, when you’re getting dressed. You just look so… perfect with your matching bras and panties,” you confessed.

“You see me through the door?” She asked, noting how you had said ‘see’ rather than ‘watch’. “Do you spy on mommy while she’s naked? Do you watch me when I change my clothes?”

Your head lulled to the side. “No! …yes… sometimes.” You confessed, getting quieter with each statement.

She raised her eyebrows, surprised and amused by your unswerving honesty. She’d known, of course, about your little habits. You weren’t as sneaky as you thought. However, having you blubbering under her, confessing every little thing you’d ever done, brought her immense satisfaction.

She ran her hand up your upper thigh again, lightly tracing shapes with her fingers. “How long have you been spying on mommy, huh?”

You sighed, feeling the wet spot on the underwear grow. Her touch was so memorizing you nearly forgot to answer the question. She pulled her hand away, grabbing your face and raising her eyebrows expectantly. You snapped out of your haze. “I don’t know! I don’t know how it started! Please! I promise I’m not a naughty girl!”

Her hand moved up to your hair, gently wiping it from her face. Her rapid switching from gentle to harsh was making your head spin. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Mommy’s not mad. You’re doing a very good job being honest with me.” She leaned forward, so close you could feel her breath against your ear. “How does it make you feel, watching me in my room like that? Watching me change my clothes and seeing my pretty lingerie?”

“G-good,” you answered hazily. “I just… I like to see, sometimes.”

She was slowly climbing up your body, almost in your lap now. “You just like to see sometimes, hmm?” She repeated. “Is that all?”

“Sometimes I-I like to… um… to-touch my… in the hallway while I watch,” you confessed, too scared and hazy to lie to her anymore.

A faint smile grew on her lips. She could hardly believe how vulnerable she’d made you. She’d never quite seen you like this before. “That’s quite naughty of you, darling. You can’t just touch yourself in the hallway like that. Someone could catch you, you know.”

“Dad almost… one time he saw… but he didn’t know what I was doing and I pretended I was waiting on you.”

She sat on your knees, rubbing soothing circles on your collarbones and shoulders. “Dad almost caught you, huh? And what were you doing, exactly?”

“Just… rubbing… on the outside. I didn’t have my h-hands in my pants or anything,” you stammered.

She leaned forward again, moving her hands down to your hips. “That was a very very naughty thing to do, little girl. I better not catch you rubbing yourself in the hallway again.”

You shook your head. “It will never happen again! I promise!”

She grabbed your face again, significantly softer now that she’d already broken you. She simply lifted your chin to look her in the eyes. “No more lying, darling. I want to know the truth. Are you going to stop spying on me?”

You nodded frantically, determined to never find yourself in this situation again. “Never! I swear!”

“Good girl,” she cooed. She gently rubbed your cheek with her thumb. “And no more stealing my underwear, agreed?”

You nodded again, driven to yet another confession you hadn’t planned on making. “No more! And no more stealing the dirty ones either. I won’t even snoop again! I promise!”

“Oh?” Wanda purred, “So you’ve been stealing my dirty panties too? Not just the clean ones?” Once again, she had been noticing her panties in your laundry instead of hers for months now. She was under no illusion that they were ending up there accidentally.

“This… this was the first time I stole any clean ones! I’ve never worn them before either!” You defended.

She hummed softly, pretending to ponder your confession. “Hmm. And what, exactly, do you do with my dirty panties?”

“I just… smell,” you confessed. “Some I use them to… t-touch myself with.”

“You use them when you touch yourself?” She asked, her voice still gentle and sweet. She ran her hands through your hair with an air of possession.

You nodded. “One time I had… I had a taste. But just one time!”

She chuckled smugly. “Oh?” She smirked down at you. “You took a taste, huh? Just once?”

You nodded. You were so terribly embarrassed. You wanted to throw yourself into her and beg her for forgiveness, but you doubted it would help.

“And how did I taste, darling?” She asked.

You moaned a little at the memory, hips bucking up as you felt yourself grow even wetter. “Really g-good. I’d never… finished that much before.”

“Aww,” she chuckled again. “Did you cum really hard when you tasted mommy?”

You nodded. Her hands traced light patterns on your hips, making their way to your stomach. “Just from a little taste?” She asked again, egging you on for more details.

“I… it kinda sprayed everywhere,” you explained. “I’ve never done that before.”

You were so wet now, you’d soaked through both the thin fabric of the underwear and your pants, leaving a wet spot on your chair. Wanda looked down at the spot and smirked smugly.

“It looks like maybe you enjoyed it, huh?” She lightly traced the waistband of your pants, getting close but not quite touching the wet parts of the fabric.

You whimpered and bucked your hips up, trying to get her hand closer to where you needed it. “Y-yeah. I didn’t know it could… happen like that.”

Wanda hummed, pondering your words. “Yeah, sweetheart. It happens like that sometimes when you feel really really good.”

You nodded, still sniffling. The whole ordeal had you beyond embarrassed, yet you noticed that your arousal persisted through the embarrassment. Perhaps it was even worsened by it.

“Can-can I go to my room?” You stuttered. You had to get out of here, to somewhere more private before your humiliation and arousal bubbled over.

“Aww, sweetheart,” she cooed with fake sympathy. “Did you really think after all of this I would just let you go to your room?”

Your eyes went wide with terror. There was only so much more of this you could withstand before disaster struck. “B-but you said you weren’t mad!”

“I’m not mad, honey,” she reassured. “But what you’ve done was very very naughty, isn’t it?”

You nodded, another wave of tears threatening to fall.

“And when little girls do naughty things they have to be punished, don’t they?” She said, affectionately combing through your hair.

You nodded again, whimpering under her gentle touch. “But you’ll go easy on me, right? Because I was a good girl and I was honest and I told you everything?”

She chuckled. Your description wasn’t exactly accurate, but she couldn’t help but take at least a little pity on you. You had confessed in the end, even if it took a little pushing. “Of course, baby,” she soothed. “Now go upstairs and wait for mommy. I want you over the end of the bed in nothing but mommy’s panties, okay?”

You nodded frantically, running up the stairs and assuming the position as soon as she got off your lap.

She chuckled, amused by your eager obedience, and boxed up the pasta she’d made so she could easily heat it back up after this was over.

It only took her about five minutes to make her way up to the bedroom, but to you, bent naked over the edge of the bed, it felt like hours.

You had to fight to keep your head down on the mattress when you heard her open the bedroom door. You whined as you watched her pull the wooden hairbrush from her nightstand. “No mommy! Please not the hairbrush! Please I was so honest and-and I answered all of your questions-“

She cut you off by rubbing gentle circles on the swell of your ass. “Shshsh,” she soothed. “Mommy’s only doing this because she loves you, okay? I have to remind my sweet girl what happens when she’s naughty so she’ll remember to be a good girl, right?”

You whimpered and squirmed under her, trying to be patient and still but also desperate to get away from the hairbrush. The thin fabric of the underwear offered you little to no protection.

“I want you to count for me, okay?” She instructed. “If you can keep count like a good girl, we’ll only do 15, but if I have to count for you, I’m gonna have to do 25, okay?”

You nodded, determined to be good and keep count. However, you weren’t traditionally known for keeping a clear head during your punishment. “Can-can I hold onto a pillow, please?”

You couldn’t see your face, but the tears in your voice made it hard for her to deny you anything. “Of course, baby,” she said, pulling a pillow from the headboard and tucking it into your arms. She kissed the side of your teary face. “Mommy loves you very much, princess. It’ll be over soon.”

She tapped your ass twice with the hairbrush before placing the first smack firmly on your left cheek. You cried out, wailing more with overwhelming embarrassment than pain.

“One!”

She hit you again with perfect precision in almost the exact same spot.

“T-two”

She switched sides, smacking you again on the other cheek.

“Three!”

You made it to seven before you inevitably lost count. She waited for a moment after the strike before she decided your wailing was not going to give way to a number, and she officially started counting herself.

By ten, you had resorted to begging. You knew better than to flail and kick your legs, she’d have you pinned over her lap with a far worse punishment in store, but you were allowed to cry and plead all you wanted. “Please mommy! Please, I'll be good. I learned my lesson mommy please no more!”

You sounded so pathetic she was tempted to have mercy on you. You weren’t even halfway through your punishment now that she’d pushed it to 25. But she would stick to her word. That was, after all, what was most important when it came to discipline.

It wasn’t even so much the pain, you were trying to escape, but something far more alarming that boiled in your lower belly. Having her, a commanding force over you was awakening something in you. The humiliation of a confession, matched with wearing her underwear and being spanked like a child over her bed had a coil building in your lower stomach.

By 15 spanks, you realized it was inevitable. You were pleading with her more quietly now. Your hips bucked against the bed in what she thought was an attempt to get away, but by the 20th spank the coil snapped. In a humiliating display of desperation, you came, all over the sheets.

She stopped spanking you, taking a second to realize what just happened. “Did you just…?”

You wailed into the pillow, burying your face into it until it nearly suffocated you. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry mommy I didn’t mean to! I’ll clean it up! I promise! Please no more spankings mommy! Please, I'll be a good girl!”

Wanda laughed sadistically. “Good girls don’t have little accidents when their mommies spank them, do they?”

Your voice trembled. You could hardly breathe. “N-no.”

Wanda tapped your sore ass twice with the hairbrush. It hurt worse than when she’d done it earlier. “Get up, sweetheart.”

Reluctantly, you got up, standing naked at the foot of the bed next to a clothed and composed Wanda. Every bone in your body wanted to run out of the room, but her intimidating demeanor had you locked in place.

She grabbed the back of your hair roughly, causing you to gasp. “Do you like it when mommy spanks your little ass?” She asked.

“N-no,” you whimpered.

“Really?” She asked before roughly pushing your face down until it was hanging just above the mess you’d left on the bed. “It sure looks like you did. Tell mommy the truth. Do you like it when I spank you?”

You whined, tears falling from your face and mixing with your cum. “Yes! Yes I like it when you spank me! Please mommy!”

“Lick it up,” she commanded.

“W-what?” You stuttered. She couldn’t seriously be asking for what you thought she was asking.

“You heard me. Lick. It. Up.” She repeated. “If you wanna make a little mess on my sheets, you're gonna clean it up yourself.”

You stuck out your tongue, licking the cum from the mattress. It was disgustingly salty, mixed with the tears that were continually streaming into it. You sobbed in embarrassment. You were certain you’d never been more humiliated in your life. Yet, you still felt your arousal growing.

“Oh?” She said, presumably noticing the arousal still building between your legs. “Is my little girl enjoying this too? Do you like it when mommy gets rough with you?”

Deciding this couldn’t get any worse, you just nodded.

Her grip on your hair loosened, switching instead to a soft stroking. “That’s a good girl,” she praised.

She gently pulled you back up from the mattress when she deemed it sufficiently clean. She pulled you to face her. “Let mommy have a taste.”

You hesitantly parted your lips, slowly meshing them with hers. She hummed contentedly, running her tongue along your own.

You grabbed her by the back of the neck, losing yourself in her. You stopped caring that you were naked and sobbing and pathetic.

Her hand fell from your hair to your chest. She pushed you backwards so hard you crashed on to your back on the mattress.

She crawled on top of you, kissing you again. You could feel her hands reach down to unbutton her jeans. You moaned into her mouth as her smooth bare legs met yours.

She straddled your waist, breaking the kiss to crawl further up your body.

“If just a taste from my panties made you squirt before,” she started, “I wondered what I can make you do with the real thing.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #mommy wanda #mommy!wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #stepmom wanda

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moni-logues · 8 months ago

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What the cat dragged in

Pairing: Lee Know x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: smut, angst, strangers-to-lovers (kinda); 5+1

Summary: You followed Minho home because you had nowhere else to go. Then you kept following... all the way into his heart, but not his bed.

aka five times you and Minho don't fuck and one time you do.

Content: reader is 16yo in the first section (nothing sexual or romantic happens but there are suggestions of it), couple of references to human/sex trafficking; the gang are useless crime idiots but this is only barely relevant; interrupted foreplay; attempted car sex; unprotected piv sex; fingering; a lot of kissing tbh

Word count: 13.5k

A/N: SO this whole thing actually started HERE in JUNE (jfc, I thought I'd been thinking about this since like, October or something but, no no, a full ten months!!!!). It has drifted from that somewhat but that was its beginning and, honestly, I'm kind of stoked about this fic. I really like how it came out and it's my FIRST MINHO. It's taken me SO long to get around to my bestest evil catdad.

Huge thanks to @violetsiren90 for beta-ing! and also for reading it half-finished when I really needed some encouragment. AND for the title

*~*~*

FIRST

“Why don’t you fuck off?”

The voice came from behind you. It was low and cold and threatening. It was directed at Shindong, the man in front of you, whom you were sure was this close to offering to take you home. You whipped around to see who had uttered it.

Your immediate thought was that he was too short and too slight to be walking up with that level of aggression. Your second thought was interrupted by the spark that shot up your arm when he grabbed your hand. You’d have pulled it back, but his grip was solid and your arm didn’t budge.

“What the fuck do you want, Minho?” your companion replied, all the charm sliding off his face, replaced with a loathing, arrogant sneer.

“I want you to fuck off.”

“She yours? Might want to keep a closer eye on her; she was just about to come home with me.”

The stranger’s hand squeezed yours, so hard it started to hurt. He offered nothing in response.

Both men continued to stare at each other. Shindong had inches on Minho – both height and breadth – and you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw him hesitating. He flicked his eyes between you and Minho.

“What if I want to fight you for her?”

“What if I told you she’s not legal?”

Shindong hesitated, moved just a fraction backwards, no longer leaning in, looming over the two of you. He rolled his eyes and gave a heartless chuckle.

“Not worth the fucking bother,” he muttered as he walked away.

Minho, still a stranger to you, still holding your hand, who hadn’t even looked your way, pulled you sharply by said hand, storming off and taking you with him. You followed him into one of the warehouse’s many dark corners. He kicked out the couple who were two clothing items shy of a citation for public indecency, and only then did he let you go. Only then did he turn his dark, flaming eyes on you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you asked.

Shindong had been your lifeline. What did this guy think he was playing at?

Your vehemence took him off-guard, surprise flashing across his face, until his scowl returned, worse than before. You understood now why he made Shindong hesitate. His gaze was fierce, penetrating, his jaw set, his mouth a taut, grim line. You would never show your hand to anyone, but a cold droplet of fear slithered down your spine. You straightened it, rolled your shoulders back, lifted your head. You wouldn’t let him intimidate you.

“Do you know him?” he asked, voice still low, still threatening.

Not personally. Not until that evening. But people like him came with a reputation that preceded them. A reputation that you were relying upon being based in fact. A reputation that had spread all around your school and beyond, but that you had heard from a source close to the truth. It was close enough that you were able to find him here, in a part of town you’d never been to. It was close enough that you were able to pick Shindong out from this crowd. Close enough that when you approached him and he laughed at you – young, naïve, foolish, all of those things you were sure he thought – you were able to drop his cousin’s name and he suddenly took you seriously. That was what you had been hoping for. A connection was all you needed to keep you covered for a night, at least. Just one would be something.

And then this guy showed up.

“I was about to.”

Minho’s top lip curled, just a fraction, his nose barely wrinkling with the movement, but you got his meaning. Disgust. He could be as disgusted as he liked; that wasn’t your problem. Your problem was that his disgust had led him to chase away your only lead.

Or was he? Was Shindong your only option?

You changed tack. Realised that maybe you had another now. Minho, whoever the fuck he was, had approached you as if he knew you and scared off the competition. That must have been it. Despite the way he glowered at you, absolutely no interest or desire lurking behind his dark eyes, you figured you had nothing left to lose.

You relaxed a little, pouted your lips, played up to the damsel in distress he might have thought you were.

“But if he’s so awful, I guess I can only thank you,” you said, making your voice soft, your eyes a little wider. You lifted your lips in a tiny, shy smile and then put a hand to them, your thumb and index finger tugging a little on your bottom lip, hoping it made you look small, nervous, sweet.

He gave you no reaction. He continued to glare, his stance unchanged, unmoving. So you moved. You stepped towards him: shy, little bird steps, until you were so close that he moved backwards.

“Thanks for looking out for me. Your name’s Minho, right?”

His eyes tightened minutely. He didn’t reply.

“I’d like to thank you properly,” you said, sliding your body into his, pressing just one finger against his chest. You fluttered your lashes up at him.

His face changed immediately. Eyes wide, mouth dropping, and he was stumbling backwards, pressing himself against the wall.

“What the fuck are you doing? What are you, fifteen?”

Embarrassment licked your cheeks like flames and your scowl returned.

“I’m sixteen!”

“Wow, big age. My mistake. By all means, let’s fuck, Sixteen.”

His sarcasm was biting but you hadn’t given yourself up yet.

“Don’t you want to?” you asked, innocently. “You must have sent Shindong away for a reason. If not this, then what?”

He let out a sigh so aggrieved it was almost a shout. He rolled his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, where are your parents?” he asked, but it was muttered, almost under his breath and you didn’t know if you were supposed to answer. You did anyway.

“Dead.”

His lack of reaction grated. He didn’t flinch. There was no surprise, no guilt on his face. He had robbed you of Shindong and now he had robbed you of your fun: getting a reaction out of people as a poor, orphaned, little Annie was as close as you got these days. Then again, he wasn’t a well-meaning aunt or nosy teacher. He knew what this place was; he knew, or at least knew of, Shindong. Maybe your hand-grenade was, here, little more than a snap.

“And this is your great life plan? Offering sexual favours to predators?”

He gestured widely to the room behind you, and you could only assume he did not mean to include himself in that group.

Actually, it was your plan. Kind of… Insofar as you had any sort of plan at all. You would not be telling him that. You kept your mouth shut tight and jaw clenched, refusing to look down, to be the one to break the eye contact.

“You know he’s a fucking bad guy,” he said, more softly than he had said anything so far but the hard edge remained.

“And what are you, my hero?”

“Absolutely fucking not. I do not want to have anything to do with whatever mess you are making of your life, but I’m not about to let that cunt take off with a child.”

“I am not a child!” you shouted, right in his face.

He took it, impassive, unimpressed even.

“That’s exactly what a child would say.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to smash him in his beautifully sharp jaw, or break that perfect, delicate nose of his. You were just about not stupid enough to try. How did he even know you were young? You knew you didn’t look it; you were always getting told you looked older than you were. How did he know? Why did he care?

“Go on then,” you said, darkly. “Leave. If I’m not your fucking problem, why don’t you fuck off?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move.

“Worried I’ll get murdered?”

You lifted your hands to your open mouth, eyes widened, a mockery of fear.

His face and tone were flat when he responded.

“There are things worse than death.”

Then he pushed past you and out of the door.

You took one shaky breath and walked after him before you could talk yourself out of it. You decided that, one way or another, this guy owed you and it was time to collect.

You followed him, not too closely, but not exactly hiding it, for over a mile. You wondered, at one point, if he was trying to lose you, if he was actually heading to his destination or just trying to outlast you. You’d show him. You were a long-distance runner at school; you were extremely confident you could keep up.

So confident, in fact, so determined were you not to lose him, that you were too slow to notice him slowing, to notice him stopping, to very nearly not stop yourself walking into him.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, not turning to look at you.

“I’m walking here.”

“Stop following me.”

“I’m not following you.”

He raised his eyes skyward. He stood for a moment and you stood, too, waiting for him to continue – walking or talking, you didn’t know which. He finally turned around and looked at you, everything about him a little softer than before. Not soft, but softer.

“You can’t follow me,” he told you slowly, emphatically. “I am not looking after you. I am not your fath-“

“I don’t have a fucking father.”

He scoffed.

“Yeah, that much is very clear, Sixteen.”

“I’m not sixteen!”

He frowned.

“That’s what you told me.”

“That’s not my fucking name! Stop saying it like I’m a child. How old are you anyway?”

“Old enough to know better.”

“What does that mean?”

“Go home, Sixteen.”

“I don’t have a home.”

“Well you can’t have mine.”

He turned on his heel and continued walking, a little faster this time, increasing his pace to a jog as he crossed the road. You knew he hoped you wouldn’t be able to follow, that the flashing green man would disappear before you could make it, but you’d been underestimated before.

After another mile or so, you saw him take his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying but you thought it sounded like Japanese. Was he Japanese?

It hadn’t missed you, the knowledge that you had no knowledge of this man. You understood that you were, as far as you knew, in as much danger following him home as you had been going with Shindong. But you literally had no other options. It was follow this guy somewhere or wander around on the street all night; it was too cold to stay out. You hadn’t thought beyond that when you’d left your house earlier that day. Hadn’t thought much at all, except about getting out.

Now you were out. Mission accomplished. And you had no idea what to do next.

You almost missed him ducking into a narrow side street, but you caught the door he rushed through just before it shut. He disappeared from view through another door, off to the left of the dingy, dimly lit corridor you found yourself in. You stalked up to it – it wasn’t even fully closed – but something made you hesitate.

Suddenly the fear that you had been suppressing all night raised its head. Was this a lion’s den? A serpents’ nest? Was Minho playing some kind of long game, saving you from Shindong so you would trust him, so you would follow him here, so he could…?

“Are you going to fucking stand out there all night?” you heard a voice call from inside. It had to be Minho’s but you wouldn’t have bet on it.

You fixed your face, your scowl reappearing, and kicked the door open with excessive force.

It was just a bar. Just him, sitting on a stool with a beer in his hand, and one other guy, standing opposite, looking at you with his eyebrows raised in the way a parent does when they catch their child doing something naughty.

“You break that door, I’m going to make you pay for it,” he said, in an accent that you knew wasn’t local.

And, just like a defiant child, you slammed it shut without breaking eye contact. He turned to Minho.

“Thanks, man. You had to bring home a fucking streetrat.”

“I am not a streetrat,” you spat.

“No?” Minho chimed in. “Then where’s your home?”

“Fuck off.”

“I really wish you would.”

You sat down in a booth just off to your left and stared him down.

“She can’t stay here,” the stranger said to Minho, as if you were no longer there.

“I didn’t bring her; she just came.”

He, the newest stranger, looked between you and Minho for several seconds. He was looking at Minho when he spoke again.

“One night. That’s it. And she’s your responsibility.”

He heaved a box full of empty glass bottles into his arms and wandered away, through a different door, mumbling something about ‘strays’.

“Who was that?” you demanded as Minho continued to sip at his beer.

You realised that you hadn’t actually been introduced to him either. And he hadn’t asked for your name. You wondered if he would now.

“None of your fucking business,” he answered, finally moving from the stool to walk behind the bar.

He opened the cash register and took bags from a cubby just below it. He produced a tiny pencil from his pocket and tore off a strip of the receipt roll. He took out the cash and started to count. You watched his lips move silently as he flicked quickly through the notes, pausing to drop a stack onto the bar and write a number down. He picked up the next stack and repeated.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, not looking up, not even, apparently, pausing in his counting. “Even if you got your urchin mitts on it, you wouldn’t make it to the door.”

You believed him, but you weren’t planning some kind of move. You didn’t need his money. You were just watching.

You watched until all the notes and all the coins were accounted for, until they had been put into bags and those bags into a box and Minho turned to follow his friend. You stood from your seat and went after him.

There were two doors, you realised. Minho took the left. It led to an office. The other guy must’ve taken the right because the room was empty except for furniture and, in the corner, a safe. Minho dumped the box before it and turned to you.

“Turn around.”

“Worried I’ll crack the code?” you asked with your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Just turn around.”

You did as you were told without a fight because, at that point, there was nowhere else to go. You couldn’t admit defeat and walk out of there; you weren’t sure that Minho wouldn’t make you do just that. It was a knife-edge, being the obnoxious, vile brat that you were. You’d stormed past boundaries before but, well, look where it got you. You were tired and worried enough now to decide you would stop pushing your luck. It had been stretched far enough already.

There was a second of silence before you heard the beeping of the buttons pressed and the shuffling of bags, the clink of coins, the thunk of a bigger, metallic something against the walls of the safe. He didn’t tell you when he was finished, didn’t say you could turn back around. He just walked past you, out of the office, turning the light off as he went. As soon as you were out of the door, he shut and locked it.

You followed him back to the bar and he did the same thing: turned off the lights and held a door for you (not politely, not because he was being nice), following you through it and locking this one behind him, too. You walked to the end of the corridor and he gestured you down some wooden stairs that creaked as if they would break under your weight. He turned the corridor light off, too, and locked the door at the top of the steps.

This was it. You were locked in. There were at least two locks between you and escape. When Minho shoved past you to the left and opened yet another door, your stomach sank a little further. Three locked doors. He didn’t hold this one for you but he didn’t slam it in your face either, so you rolled your shoulders back, put on your game face and walked through.

You almost regretted it when you saw where it led. It was possibly the worst place you had ever seen. It wasn’t messy, but there was something dirty about the room anyway. Outdoor furniture inside; everything vaguely brown in a way that you didn’t think it had been fresh out of the box; everything tired and worn and sagging; the naked lightbulb dim and humming as it shone; the fridge, scratched and dented and shoved into a corner, also hummed, managing to sound as well as look tired. It was bleak. It was grey. It made you feel like things were crawling on you and you’d only just stepped foot in it.

You half expected your feet to stick to the floor when you took a few steps forward. They didn’t but the carpet was so old and worn that you had no idea what colour it was originally; in places, you could see the floorboards clearly through the threads.

Minho pointed to the sofa.

“There,” was all he said.

Then he disappeared out of the room. You gingerly sat on the edge, wondering if you should be more concerned about your health or your safety. Maybe you were sheltered here, but you pictured a thousand and one diseases squirming on the cushions. It wasn’t fair to, because you could see that it was cleaned. The room wasn’t filthy; there were no crumbs or water rings on the coffee table; there was no rubbish littering the floor; the sink was empty and a stack of plates and bowls stood beside it, washed if not yet dried. Minho was clearly diligent.

Minho and whoever else lived here. There were too many doors leading off this room for him to be here alone.

Your curiosity was stopped in its tracks when he reappeared with a pillow and a towel. He threw the pillow wordlessly at one end of the sofa and then he raised the towel a little.

“I don’t have any blankets. Don’t get cold.”

You scoffed a laugh and were grateful that he ignored it. You weren’t indignant; you weren’t being a brat this time. You were dismayed. You couldn’t believe it. A house with no spare blankets. You were going to sleep under a towel. You glanced around you for a final time, tears pricking in your eyes, fingers at your lips, picking nervously. You weren’t going to die here, you told yourself. Probably. You were probably not going to die here and that was all you needed.

You stood up, turned off the light, tested the door handle (not sure if you wanted it to be locked or unlocked), then returned to the sofa. You took off your shoes, took your bag from your back and hugged it tightly to your chest. You lay in the dark, in a stranger’s horrible house, alone, tired, more vulnerable than you would ever admit. You cried silently, reluctantly grateful for the towel, until you fell asleep.

SECOND

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to everyone! Happy birthday to you!”

You only got one birthday a year. The whole group of you. There wasn’t enough to stretch to everyone getting an individual birthday, an individual cake, a day off. So the middle day of the year, 2nd July, was chosen and you all had a birthday together.

One cake, one candle each, six people blowing them out. Most unsanitary, but, by now, there wasn’t much you hadn’t shared so a little spit didn’t even register.

You were too drunk by far, which was stupid really. It wasn’t even your first time drinking legally (because your real birthday wasn’t until later in the year), so there was no reason for you to behave as if you had never had a drink before. You should have learnt a little self-control.

But it was your birthdays. So you kept having one more and one more and one more. As did everyone else.

“Nineteen!” Minho called as he fell into the booth next to you.

“I thought I was Sixteen?”

He shrugged.

“You do still act like it.”

You shoved him, almost hard enough to push him off his seat completely. He shoved you back.

“Shut up, Minnie.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, plotting death for using the nickname he loathed above all others, and you sent a simpering smile back at him.

“You’re a little squirt, anyone ever tell you that?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You, literally all the time, because you are for some reason desperate to sound like the oldest grandpa in the room.”

He let out a growling sort of cry, dramatic because he’d also had too much to drink. Then he stood.

“BYE, Sixteen!”

If someone didn’t know the two of you, it would seem as if nothing had changed in the time since you met: both antagonistic, unlikable, as hard as you could make yourselves, forced together and barely tolerating it.

Those who did know you, however, knew that things were very different now. Minho had, reluctantly, taken responsibility for you and, when you had grown up just enough to realise what that had meant, you felt all your hard resolve melt.

They had very little, this ragtag bunch of kids (barely older than you) but they shared everything between them. Never quite enough to go around, money from legitimate enterprises never stretching far enough and having to be supported by money from less than legitimate means. You were a liability. In every sense. The only girl, a stranger, certainly not (at that time) a criminal. But Minho took responsibility and the others let you in.

When you had learnt to see past your own nose, you saw the myriad ways in which they took care of each other. The silent, invisible way Minho cared for his friends. For you. You hadn’t forgotten the sting of electricity you’d felt when he held your hand way back when. Before you’d even seen him, before you knew his name, before any of this. You felt it all the time now. You were a live wire for him.

No one in the group was stupid enough to refer to you as siblings or even joke that you acted like them. Your feelings for Minho were your most closely guarded secret but that didn’t mean everyone didn’t know. You were pretty sure even Minho himself knew. Not that he would ever act on it. He pretended not to notice, you thought. You had pushed close to the edge of being kicked out enough times to know that some things were still precarious. To know that he would never risk his weird family by acknowledging there was anything more than friendship between you. If it even was between you. He had given you very little reason to believe your feelings were reciprocated. So you did your best to ignore them.

They became a fact of life. Like the fact that Minho was the only one Chan trusted to count the cash (not because the others weren’t trustworthy; they just weren’t accurate). Like the fact that Chan had the final say on everything. Like the fact that he would never abuse that authority and act for anything other than the wellbeing of the entire group. It just was.

And it wasn’t like you were stupid enough to pine. You had some pride. Plenty, in fact.

You stood from the booth and sauntered to the bar where your sometime-boyfriend, Johnny, was getting another drink.

“Babe,” you whined, draping yourself over his back, hooking your chin over his shoulder.

“Babe,” he whined back, copying, mocking.

“Entertain me, I’m bored.”

“It’s your party.”

You pouted and forced him to join you on the makeshift dancefloor. You refused to notice that Minho left it as soon as you joined, his face dropping, looking only at Johnny and never once pleased about it.

Chan had cut off the booze supply hours ago and the sun was thinking about raising its head above the horizon, which meant that, far from being wasted and happy and giddy and passing out in your bed, your hangover was already crawling in and you were tired and irritable. Johnny had pissed you off sometime before the booze dried up and then pissed off entirely before you’d begun to sober up, so you’d spent the smallest hours of the morning making your bad mood everyone else’s problem.

Everyone except Minho. Because whilst you were always determined, at these moments, to needle him, to want to get under his skin, to want to scrape it back and spit on it, he was never there. He managed to avoid your venom and, even when he didn’t, seemed immune. He would just slow-blink at you as if he were looking through you and turn away. It boiled your blood and he knew it.

You stomped downstairs to the same shithole basement you’d walked into two years ago. Everyone else had either left or gone to bed already, you thought. You expected it to be empty. It wasn’t.

“Fuck sake, Mouse,” you spat, using your usual nickname, his preferred one (… preferred being too strong a term; it was the one he allowed you to use without retaliation). “Why are you sitting on your own like a fucking loser?”

“You know he treats you like a fucking loser?”

He turned to lean over the back of the sofa, looking tired under his eyes but energetic within them.

“Fuck off,” you returned. “As if you give a shit who I date.”

“Date? That’s what you call it?” He scoffed, deliberately, exaggeratedly, as if you wouldn’t otherwise have recognised his scorn. “He treats you like dirt.”

“You would know.”

He was on his feet and in front of you before you could blink.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You’d had about enough of it, you decided at that moment. Not enough sleep, too much alcohol, and just enough of this bullshit. You grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him with force towards you. You took him by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and like you meant it. Because you did. It only took him a second to push you back, hands firm on your shoulders, holding you away from him. His face had lost his usual mask – the blank, passive, flat-eyed one that he used to stare people out with unnatural stillness – but he was still keeping you out; it was guarded, flashes in his eyes being stamped out with every blink, his jaw held tight and his mouth shut.

“That’s what I fucking mean, Minho,” you hissed.

“How dare you?” he hissed back, voice so low in his throat you almost couldn’t hear it. “You have no fucking idea.”

His blinks weren’t quick enough this time to hide all the anger burning in his eyes.

“No idea of what? What?!”

His lip curled and he let you go. He let his guard down around you more than he should have: shrugged you off and turned his back on you. You took both palms and pushed him. He tumbled forward, catching his foot on a side table, pulling it down with him as he hit the floor. Cat-like in his reflexes, he was on his feet before the table had stopped rocking. He charged straight at you and continued until you were pressed up against the door, until he was pressed up against you.

“You want a kiss?” he asked and every part of you should have been screaming yes, because you did.

You did want a kiss, but nothing about this was how you wanted it. It was a threat, not an offer. You’d been threatened with worse. You jutted your chin out a little, always standing up, never backing down.

“You going to give me one?”

His eyes flicked towards your lips, hovered there a second, like he was really thinking about it. They stayed there a little longer and doubt was picking up speed on its race to your consciousness. You thought he wouldn’t. You thought he would. You still couldn’t predict his behaviour. You thought you had him pinned and then he flipped you. You always thought you had him on the ropes, but you never really did.

You were impatient, tiring of this, doubt and insecurity and embarrassment swelling up inside you and you opened your mouth to tell him to go away, to fuck off and die, to do something vile to himself. It was at that moment that his eyes met yours again, for a split second that sent a streak of ice through your blood, and then his mouth was on yours.

You had never once looked a gift horse in the mouth, but even if you had wanted to, even if you had decided before he did it that you would push him off, return his rejection, you couldn’t possibly have done it now. His lips were soft, his hands still tight around your arms. He crowded you further against the door, your bodies pressing together as he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entry. You gave it to him. Your hands snaked up his chest and into his hair; it was softer than you’d expected, silky. For a moment, you were disarmed by it. Soft. He never let his softness show if he could help it. Only rarely. Only when he felt safe enough to let his guard down did it ever come creeping out from its hiding place. But here it was, sprouting from the top of his head. Here it was, pressed against your lips, brushing your tongue. You felt weak at the knees.

As far as kisses go, it was the best you’d had. Fire and ice fighting: goosebumps erupting on your skin as it flushed hot, making you shiver. His mouth was warm and wet and sweet and you were desperate for more, knowing that he was kissing you just right and that you weren’t doing the same. You were too eager, too greedy, too needy. This wouldn’t be enough. Couldn’t be enough. Just his lips on yours, his tongue rolling with yours, his hands still pinning your sides. You couldn’t stop here. You had to have him. All.

You whined when he pulled back, when his grip on you loosened, and you opened your eyes expecting his to be soft and liquid, to be those sweet, round boba eyes he didn’t show enough of.

They were hard and flat. He moved away from you in one, long step and back was that impassive blankness he loved so much.

“Happy fucking birthday,” he said.

He stalked off to his bedroom and shut the door.

You stayed, glued to the front door, shaking. With anger, probably. With embarrassment, maybe. With something akin to heartbreak, but you would never admit it. The roaring in your ears, the screaming of invective at both yourself and Minho in your head so loud that you didn’t hear the sound of a key in the lock, weren’t aware that someone was trying to get in until they were shoving at the door, pushing you with it.

“What the fuck?” came a quiet whine from the other side of it as he slowly pushed you away and got the door open. “Why were you trying to keep me out?”

Jisung’s hamster cheeks were full of kimbap, the other half of the roll still in his hand, and his eyes were wide with that cute, pitiful look he carried off so perfectly.

You ignored him. You stomped into your bedroom and slammed the door as hard as you could.

THIRD

Despite having your own bedroom (graciously offered up by Changbin and very ungraciously accepted by you), privacy in the small basement flat was an issue. Which is why you were huddled in the farthest corner of it, fists stuffed in your mouth, crying as quietly as you could in the dead of night.

You lived with five men, but you had not yet found someone to date who would take the threat of them seriously. They did make threats, on occasion, when they had to. Because you had not yet found a man who could treat you as anything more than shit but you had, apparently, found the least bothered and most unfazed men in the city. The one before last had barely flinched when all five of them had battered down his door to come for you, when you had finally managed to get a message out that he was keeping you there.

You never found out what happened to him. You didn’t ask and no one told you.

This one hadn’t been that bad. That was the problem. You had thought he was nice. You had thought (as you had so many times before) that he might actually be the first to treat you right.

You were wrong. So, you were crying in the corner of your room. You didn’t always cry. In fact, you didn’t often cry. Rarely, even. It meant that, when you did, the floodgates opened and you found it hard to stop. You found it almost impossible to breathe, desperately snatching air between sobs. Your head was already pounding, your face aching. It was total and complete the way it overtook you. So much so that you didn’t notice the presence of another person until they sat down beside you.

You gasped, as much as you could amongst your shaking, shallow breaths, and were only slightly comforted that it was him. He said nothing. He pulled you towards him and held you like that until the storm had passed.

You continued to sit in silence as your tears dried on your face, as your heartrate settled and your breathing became even. He didn’t make a move to let you go and you didn’t make one either. You were tired. You were sad. You were, though you wouldn’t admit it, a little bit heartbroken. This bit of comfort was exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t want him to say anything. You didn’t want to hear it. That you’d done it again. That you’d never learn. That, somehow, you were gullible and easy to fool despite the fact that you had been hardening yourself against vulnerability of every kind since you were a child. That men just found a way to get beyond your defences—that bad men found a way. The good ones didn’t find you at all.

“His loss,” was what he said.

You lifted your head, tears still clinging to your lashes, drying on your cheeks. He had that look on his face that he saved for you: the soft, sweet one he gave you when you’d earnt it or when you needed it. The one that made your insides curdle, that even now made your heart skip a beat, that you wanted to fall into forever, that had sealed your fate so many years ago now. He blinked slowly at you, cat-like as always, and brushed your hair from your face.

You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came. Your voice was trapped in your throat because he was still looking at you like that but his eyes kept flicking down, then back up, then down again at longer and longer intervals until he closed them completely and brought his lips to yours.

You didn’t have to think twice. Didn’t have to think at all. Your body did the thinking for you. Your hands pushed into his hair and your legs pushed you up so you could slot them down either side of his hips. His hands found your waist and then the soft skin on the other side of your t-shirt.

This was nothing like the first time. You remembered it all too well: the electricity, the anger, the volcano of feelings you’d tried to suppress rumbling and threatening to erupt, to blow the lid off the equilibrium you’d found. The hunger, the desperation, your own neediness spoiling it all.

You weren’t desperate anymore, for his approval, for his love, for whatever he would give you. You wanted it all, would lay yourself on the floor and kiss his feet if he asked, with no hesitation, but you always knew he wouldn’t ask. You’d got used to that.

Except now he was kissing you – he had kissed you – and his hands were squeezing at your waist and it was slow. Controlled. Deliberate. There was nothing accidental about the way his tongue rolled over yours, the way his teeth bit at your bottom lip, the way his hands pulled you lower on his lap, pulled you closer to him until there wasn’t so much as a breath of air between you.

“Mouse,” you murmured, quietly into his mouth.

He shook his head minutely, a tiny hum swallowed by you when he pressed your lips together again. No talking. Fine. You didn’t need to talk. If he kept kissing you, kept touching you, you wouldn’t need to utter another word again. But you couldn’t stop the little gasp when he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your neck, the moan rising in your throat when he ran his tongue over the same spot, hurting then soothing. Like always.

It made your brain turn fuzzy, static wavering in your mind, as all your conscious thoughts turned to liquid, melting into Minho’s mouth, swallowed down by him, eaten whole.

Then the front door slammed hard.

“Guys!” Chan shouted, in a way that he never did.

You heard him pounding on doors, opening them, starting with Changbin and Hyunjin’s on the right.

You sprang apart like two north magnets, instinctively repelled by one another, just in time for Chan to burst through the door and scan the room for you, too wired, too stressed to register that it might have been weird for you to be sitting on the floor like you were, certainly not noticing your kiss-bitten lips or heavy breathing or the way Minho’s hair was ruffled like it had just had a fist in it.

“We’ve got to go,” Chan announced. “Like, right fucking now.”

FOURTH

No one wanted to up the ante. No one wanted to start getting involved with the organised crime lot. Your crime was… disorganised. It was local. It was just you doing the things you needed to, skirting around the law to survive. It wasn’t really crime, not if you squinted hard enough. Then the police raided the bar (which was illegal in pretty much every way that mattered) and you had nowhere left to go.

There was just enough of the trust your parents left you (which you got access to at 21) to secure a new apartment (one that was not underground) and a small buy-in with a group of much larger, older, more experienced criminals. There was very little else you could’ve done at that point. Or so you all told yourselves.

The apartment was an upgrade in every way but size. It was newer and above-ground which meant it stayed warm and didn’t get damp. It had windows which let the sun in. It had enough room for two sofas so everyone could sit comfortably. It had a gas hob which really only Chan and Minho cared about, but they cared a lot. It had two bathrooms with reliably hot water and good pressure. It did not get power cuts. It did not always smell musty. It was not brown and beige and grey. But it did have fewer rooms to be parcelled out between you all.

The last one had four rooms that served as bedrooms. This had three. Between six. There had been furious arguments and endless straw-pulling and no one was happy with the results. It took a few weeks but eventually things shook out as they always should have.

You shared with Minho because he was the only one who was willing. You both had reputations for being scary (in totally opposite ways: you the raging bull to his still, fathomless water); you loved to take your bad moods out on one another; he was the only one you ever willingly let see you when you were sad and small and vulnerable. Besides which, no one else would dare try to take the space at your side from him. So you shared a bedroom: two twin beds on opposite sides of the room, because Minho refused to sleep in a bunk bed and you refused to sleep together in a double. There was little room for anything else.

You complained about the sleeping arrangements almost daily. You loved the hot water and the sunlight and the not-mouldiness of the apartment, but some days, you couldn’t bear the way you couldn’t get away from Minho.

You’d thought you had it bad. This was even worse.

Four days. Four days, so far, staying (squatting) in a vile, empty, dilapidated villa apartment, staring out of a window, waiting for something to happen. Just you and Minho and one room. For four days and counting.

It was Minho’s turn to watch and he sat at the monitor, diligent, hard-working, as always, whilst you were supposed to be catching up on sleep. Instead, you were lying on what passed for a bed, tossing an apple into the air and catching it, over and over and-

“You going to stop that?” Minho asked, with his trademark tone: both light and threatening.

“Nope!”

“Want me to make you?”

You flicked your eyes over to him: he was studying the monitor seriously, but you were sure he had been looking at you.

You hadn’t spoken about that night. Partly because you hadn’t had the time. You’d jumped up from the floor of your bedroom, grabbed as much stuff as you could fit in the first bag you could find and the six of you had legged it, making it out just in time to watch the police cars roll up and trash the place.

“There was so much fucking money in that safe,” Chan had said, plaintively, staring at the sky. That was when you’d offered up yours.

You had had to find somewhere to live, and fast. You’d all had to find jobs, something to do, some way to make money that wasn’t connected to the bar. You had been passing like ships in the night, meeting only to argue about shower time and sleeping arrangements. Then Changbin had come home with a suggestion. You’d argued about that, too, but in the end, it was unanimous. Go in with the bigger boys or – well, there was no ‘or’. That was the point.

So you and Minho were working recon. You’d pulled the short straw in more ways than one. It was the longest you had spent together. Ever. Confined for days in this space.

On the first day, he refused to talk to you at all.

On the second, you made everything into an argument because at least you could get a rise out of him.

On the third, he had seemed to thaw. Something had softened and you talked, like friends, like you used to. You laughed and joked and it wasn’t so bad.

Now it was the fourth day and that ice had returned. He had frozen over, doubled-down on silence. No sooner had you had warmed up than he was giving you frostbite, chilblains. Whiplash. Those ten words were the first he’d spoken to you all day.

“No,” you answered. “I don’t want you to make me.”

You paused, wondering if the words you were considering were a sign that you were going mad, that being cooped up in this space had sent you a little doolally. The unbearable nothingness of your days passing like sludge forcing all those hidden thoughts forward, with nothing to distract you from them. The words were certainly risky, but Minho had shown his hand. He had kissed you. Like he meant it. And you knew he would’ve continued to kiss you had Chan not interrupted. He’d have continued to do a whole lot more than just kiss you.

And you were bored.

“I want you to fuck me,” you said plainly, catching the apple in front of your face and turning to look at him.

He was still studying the monitor. Nothing on his face gave anything away: surprise, disgust, lust, laughter. Nothing. You were used to that.

“We’re on a job.”

“Yeah, and it’s boring and nothing is happening and who fucking cares? I would rather have sex.”

He sighed and rolled his head to look at you.

“Really, Sixteen? Now is the time you want to bring this up?”

“Stop calling me Sixteen.”

“I always call you Sixteen.”

“You always call me Sixteen when you want to put me in my place or make me feel like a child. I’m not a fucking child anymore.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then why won’t you fuck me?”

He laughed and your blood began to simmer.

“There’s more that I look for than just ‘is not a child’.”

“Don’t try to act like you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

“Well then, shall we?”

He smirked and the glint in his eye was new to you.

“We’re on a job.”

“Stop saying that!” you cried, stalking the three steps from your side of the room to his.

You manoeuvred yourself into his lap, blocking the monitor from his view, and took his face in your hands.

“We’re on a job and nothing is happening and nothing will continue to happen for ages yet, so why don’t we make it a little less fucking boring?”

You knew he wanted to. Could see his pupils dilate. Watched his eyes flick to your lips and your chest and back up. This might have been all he wanted: sex and nothing more. You didn’t know. Weren’t interested in having that conversation. Were convinced that it didn’t matter either way. If he only wanted sex, you would give it. Give it until it was too late and he was in too deep to come back out. Hadn’t worked before but there was a first time for everything.

But even that was beside the point. You were desperately bored and bored of being desperate for him and there was one stone that would kill both those birds.

“Mouse,” you said quietly, keeping your voice low, as you placed a kiss on his jaw, as you spread your knees a little wider, sinking lower into his lap. “Come on.”

His hands were on your thighs, neither encouraging nor discouraging, just holding tight. He didn’t respond as you continued to press kisses to his face, to his neck, grinding your hips over him slowly. You could feel his pulse beat fast, noticed the way his breathing was getting heavier, his fingers dipping deeper into your skin, until it hurt. Until he stopped pretending he was going to continue to work, stopped pretending that he could resist you.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his voice hoarse.

He gripped the hair at the back of your head and pulled you from his neck, tumbling you both to the floor. You didn’t want it to be fast, but you’d take it any way he’d give it. So when his hands pulled at your t-shirt, you let him take it off as you unclasped your bra. He didn’t give you time to fumble with the hem of his top, to discard it for him; he dipped his head straight down, swirling your nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth; he rested his weight on one elbow and his other hand descended. You were grateful you had no buttons, no zips to contend with, just the loose, elasticated band of a pair of leggings that had seen better days. Minho’s fingers slipped beneath it and he circled his fingers around your clit, the fabric of your underwear dulling the sensation only slightly.

This was moving even faster than you’d expected but you’d been waiting so long already. Blood rushed to the surface of your skin and your breath began to shudder. Underwear now pushed to the side, you gasped when Minho ran a finger through your folds, shivered when he moaned at what he found there. He brought his lips back to yours but you turned away to let his name drop from your open mouth.

“Mouse...”

“Shut up,” he said firmly as he sank two fingers into your slick cunt and stole your breath with another kiss.

You couldn’t talk but you could moan. Could whine. Could whimper as his fingers moved inside you, as he ground his palm against your clit, as he made your thighs twitch and walls spasm. You tried not to lose your mind completely, to stay grounded, to stay present now that this was finally, really, actually happening. You reached your own hands down to Minho’s trousers; he hadn’t got the no-buttons, no-zips memo and your fingers fumbled with both. They shook with adrenalin as you popped the button through the hole and dragged the metal zip down. You pushed them away from you, off his hips, and had one hand in his boxers when the crackle of the walkie-talkie cut through Minho’s moan.

You both froze.

“Minho? What’s happening? Chan said they’re on the move?”

You glanced at each other, for one more frozen second, and then the world lurched into overdrive. Minho clambered to the monitor with his trousers around his ankles and, as soon as he saw the screen, started swearing viciously, tugging at his clothes and throwing your t-shirt back at you.

“What’s happening?” you asked, breathless for all the wrong reasons now.

“They’re clearing out,” Minho reported into the walkie-talkie, ignoring you but answering your question anyway. “Two loads have left, a third on its way.”

“Shit! How did you miss it? What the fuck were you doing?”

“Nothing! We lost the feed for a minute but it came back quickly and then they were already moving.”

He shot you a glance, something between panicked plea and angry admonishment. It wasn’t often he was caught on the hop, wasn’t ever. You, however, were used to being on the wrong side of things, so you re-dressed quickly and had already started packing your shit up. No matter how sideways this went, you could take two positives from it. One, you wouldn’t have to stay locked up here with Minho any longer. Two, he definitely, definitely wanted to fuck you.

FIFTH

You still hadn’t talked about it. You continued to share a bedroom, sleep there every night, wake there every morning but you had not once discussed the twice now that you had almost had sex. You were waiting for him to bring it up, even though you knew he never would. He wasn’t a coward, not ever, but if there was one word to describe him it was loyal and you knew he would protect your group with his life. And that also meant not pursuing whatever it was that was between you. Because it was a risk. It could jeopardise the stability of what you had established—what Chan had established long before you ever came into the picture.

But you were digging your heels in this time. You’d already come on too strong. Your pride was being wounded with each day that passed, with each day that he continued to pass you up. You’d crack first. You knew you would. You always did. Minho was unbreakable. You weren’t. But you wanted to pretend, for at least a little while, that you could be. That you could be impenetrable, too.

“Shit shit shit shit shit,” Junho repeated as he slammed into the car, instructing Minho to drive before the door was even shut.

Minho didn’t need telling twice.

“Where to?”

“Safe house,” he gasped, ragged breathing setting your teeth on edge.

You didn’t ask what had happened. What had gone wrong. That didn’t matter as much as getting out. Getting Junho out. You were disposable, still. You knew that. Even Minho. You were runts; you also still had something to make up for given what happened on your last assignment. So you travelled in silence. Junho in the back, breathing heavily; you didn’t turn around to see if he was ok. You didn’t want to know. You assumed he wasn’t but as long as you could hear him breathing, you knew he was alive.

Minho was facing forward, eyes scanning the roads ahead, reflexes allowing him to run red lights without accident – in this part of the city, no one would stop a flashy car like this for speeding, for driving recklessly. That was what they all did. His jaw was tense, eyes tight. He looked calm but you could see his little legs kicking under the water. You knew him well enough by now.

You didn’t keep your eyes on the road. You kept them on him. Felt like someone needed to be watching out for him, too – not that there was anything you could have done to be helpful anyway. There were always two in the getaway car. That was the rule and you didn’t ask why because you didn’t want to know the answer.

As a teen, you had thought you knew everything. You were old enough now to know not only that you knew nothing but also that you preferred it that way. Need to know basis. For everything. All the time.

Minho slowed, driving more carefully as the car left the city, winding across hills, negotiating turns that you’d have driven straight over, plummeting you all to a miserable death. He turned the headlights off at the mile marker he’d been told about, one that you’d already forgotten, and crawled, slower still, up to the house, blanketed in darkness, hidden by an overgrown and untended garden.

Junho grunted.

“Thanks. Wait until I give the signal then get the fuck out of here. Do not go anywhere you’ve ever met with us. Ditch the car when you can; destroy the plates.”

He didn’t wait for a response. You watched him stagger away and then waited until the light in the top right room flicked on and off and on and off again.

Minho put the car in reverse and slowly backed out. At a further mile marker, he turned the lights on. He continued to climb, driving away from the city still, until the car reached the top of the hill. The lights from the city were so bright you almost didn’t need the headlights at all. It didn’t feel a safe place to stop. Too visible.

Then Minho slowly and quietly backed the car into nook on the hillside. No doubt worn away from years of cars trying to pass each other on the narrow road, it barely contained the car, but it put it in some shadow and no one would hit you.

He turned the engine off and let his hands fall to his lap. His head tipped back against the headrest and he sighed.

“You ok?”

You asked him all the time and he never gave a serious answer because he always was. And if he wasn’t, he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it. But you asked all the same.

He nodded then turned to you.

“You?”

You laughed nervously, suddenly feeling the last twenty minutes as the adrenalin began to drain.

“Kind of feel like I could hurl.”

He laughed too and nodded again.

“I feel like I want to sleep for a thousand years but also like I could run a marathon,” you continued.

“I feel half-dead already but also fucking invincible.”

He held his hand out and it trembled. You clasped it between yours and held it tight. He smiled; from where you were sitting, it looked like a smirk, but then he turned more fully towards you and it wasn’t. It was sweet. His eyes were gleaming. Your mouth dried.

“Half-dead, huh?” And you knew you were going to say it. You always knew you would be the one with which it would raise its head. “How about a little dead? A little death, even?”

“Sixteen…”

His voice had that warning tone to it but the gleam in his eyes remained and you’d broken the seal now. Were going to push this as far as he’d let you.

“Mouse…”

You saw him waver. Absolutely, definitely, were certain that he was considering it. Until a car came over the crest of the hill and its headlights flashed in at you; at the same moment, Minho’s phone buzzed from the cup holder it had been thrown in. You jumped. He jumped. Whatever moment there had been was gone now.

Minho took his hand from your grasp and checked his phone. Then he put the car in gear.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

You expected it to be quick. Expected it to be simple. It turned out to be neither. You had managed to destroy the plates and were very near clear of the car you’d now abandoned when you, once again, found trouble (‘why did it always have to be you?’ you had asked yourself fleetingly as Minho shoved you towards your own piece of shit car that had been waiting for your getaway; he had not waited for you to be fully seated or your door to be closed before he slammed a foot on the accelerator and squealed off). The two of you were screaming around corners, tearing out of the city in whichever direction provided the easiest escape. With the headlights off and the city lights streaming into the distance, you could barely see the road in front of you, had no idea how Minho was still driving straight. You trusted him with your life and it was just as well, because it was in his hands. His, yours, and potentially everyone else’s, too.

The summer sun was minutes away from popping its head above the horizon when you were finally able to return home.

You sat in silence for a few moments. You had moved beyond exhaustion into this kind of frayed, wired alertness. You felt your eyelids dropping even as your heart still hammered. Minho’s hand found yours.

“Mouse,” you said, letting the rest of it fall away unspoken.

“Yeah,” he replied but you didn’t know if that was his answer. “Just give me a minute.”

You were too tired to argue so you let silence fall again. You were almost dropping off, head just beginning to nod, when he tugged on your hand.

“Come here.”

You turned. You leant. His other hand cupped the back of your head and pulled you closer. He kissed you. Electricity crackled and a surge of energy rushed through you. It was happening again. He was kissing you. You couldn’t let this time pass by.

You scrambled in your chair, forgetting to undo your seatbelt, being pulled back by it and swearing coarsely when your lips broke from his. You clambered over the gearstick and the handbrake and fell with one foot heavily in the footwell as Minho slid his seat all the way back. You didn’t have time to care about the jarring in your knee or the bump on your head as it hit the roof. Could barely feel it. Didn’t matter.

Well, it didn’t matter until it did. Until there wasn’t really room enough for you to straddle him. Until you were pressing yourself up against the roof so there would be room for him to get his hands to his belt. Until you lost your balance and fell backwards, landing with bump on the steering wheel, which blared out into the dark dawn street.

“Fucking hell,” Minho muttered. “Get in the back.”

More willingly than you ever had, you did as you were told. He moved his seat forward again, all the way, and you watched him climb through to you, hands reaching for him. It was no less awkward. Not enough room to lie down. Still not enough height to sit. Not space enough between the back and front to kneel. It was messy and uncoordinated, grabbing for anything, taking what you could get, knocking into the window and falling off the seat, kicking and elbowing each other in a tangle.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Minho roared, in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “No use. Not happening.”

He sat back and sighed, trousers undone but still around his hips. He pushed his hands through his hair and you tried to settle demurely next to him, smoothing your own hair, zipping up your jeans, swallowing hard as you fought to accept that he was right. It was not happening. Not here. Not now.

You stared through the car window and were sure you could’ve punched straight through it. You wanted to. It was the window, Minho, or yourself. Couldn’t effectively punch yourself. Knew you wouldn’t dare hit your mouse. Your fingernails pressed sharply into your palm as you squeezed your fists tightly.

A hand covered yours. Gentle. You looked at Minho and there he was: your secret, soft guy. You unfurled your fingers and he linked them with his own.

“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s just go home.”

FIRST

You tramped into the apartment, bringing your bad mood with you. Everyone was sick of it by now – you were sick of it, but you couldn’t shake it.

Minho was avoiding you. That much was clear. He had been avoiding you since you tried and failed to fuck in the car. You didn’t know why because you didn’t care. You had reached the end of your tether with the universe. Three times now. But still no cigar. You wondered – asked yourself a hundred times a day – what it was going to take to make this happen.

Frustrated didn’t even begin to cover it. You could go out and hook up with whoever you liked. You could get yourself off just fine. But it ran so much deeper than that. If you pulled at the thread, it tugged on your heartstrings, all tangled up in knots. It hurt. It pulled at something so deeply interwoven with your very being; all anyone had to do was follow it to its source and they could destroy you. All anyone had to do was cut it and they’d cut you, too.

You didn’t like that. Hated it, in fact. Hated that all this tugging and wiggling had opened up a hole and you could feel your vulnerability exposed. You could feel weakness leaking out of you, seeping from your pores, visible to the naked eye, for anyone to see.

It made you bitter. Made you angry. Made you lash out even when you shouldn’t have. Because you were always on the defensive. Even now. Especially now.

You knew the others were talking about you. About Minho. About the two of you. Knew it from the awkward silences when you walked in a room and the furtive glances and the group chat that had grown curiously quiet, leaving you to assume that there was a separate one you weren’t a part of.

You were beginning to lose your patience and you were not starting with a plentiful supply.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm your rage. You had woken with it, just like every other day this week, and it would not leave you. You breathed slowly and carefully and tried to think of difficult and boring things.

You thought only of Minho.

Then he opened the door. He hesitated – you could feel him standing there, assessing – and then shut it, leaving you alone. As the door clicked, you felt that tug. You felt the knots tighten, so impossibly tight now that the joins weren’t even visible. You jumped up and threw yourself through the door.

“Stop fucking ignoring me!”

You hadn’t meant to shout.

Minho turned and looked at you. His stillness enraged you further. He didn’t say anything.

“Are you going to fucking say anything?!”

“What do you want me to say?”

“ANYTHING! You haven’t spoken to me for weeks! You literally walk out of rooms if I’m in them! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You think this is easy?”

His voice was cold and sharp as steel. His head cocked lightly to the side and his eyes narrowed, peering at you, looking inside you.

“You think I want it to be like this?-”

“I don’t know what you fucking want!”

His nostrils flared. This delighted you. He was annoyed and you loved it.

“Not once,” you continued, still shouting because you couldn’t rein it in, “have you ever fucking told me. Not once have you ever actually said what you want! That you want me. Do you? Fucking do you? Because I don’t fucking know anymore! Every time we get close, you get further away from me! I’m not a fucking yo-yo, Minho. You can’t play with me-”

“Play with you? You think I’m playing? What part of this is a game?”

His voice was rising now, too, his perfectly blank mask slipping.

“It’s never been a game, Sixteen! Not once in the entire time since we met has it been a game! How are you still not getting it? Junho almost fucking died and if he had, it would have been our fault! We all almost ended up in prison because of the fucking bar. The night we met you almost got yourself trafficked! It’s not a game! You act like life is so fucking simple! It’s not!”

“IT IS! It can be that fucking simple! Stop overthinking! Stop taking everything so fucking seriously!-”

“It is serious! That’s what you don’t get!”

He was close now, had been inching closer and closer, and he was looking down at you, his eyes black as pitch, his jaw tight, his breath struggling through clenched teeth.

“You don’t get it and you never have.”

His voice was quiet, back to that steel that sent a chill down your spine.

“Everywhere you go, I look out for you. Everywhere you are, I am responsible for you. It’s been nine fucking years, Sixteen, and you are everywhere I go.”

Your vision tunnelled, stomach fell to your feet. You had to look away and hated yourself for it. You never flinched. You never backed down. You were never the first to retreat. Except for him. You couldn’t bear to look in his eyes, to see what loathing and disdain they held for you. Your embarrassment was on your cheeks already and pricking in your eyes.

Then his nose nudged yours and he took more steps forward. He pushed you slowly against the wall and you cursed yourself for retreating to it.

“You are in my life and in my bedroom and in my fucking head,” he whispered. “All the time. All the fucking time. And I haven’t been able to do shit about it because you are my job. You are mine to protect. Everyone knows it. Everyone knows I would burn this place to the ground for you. I would scorch the earth. I would drain the sea. For you. Don’t you get it? When it comes to you, I’m a fucking liability.”

You risked it. A glance. Lifted your eyes for less than a second but you had to do it again. Had to stop there, be sure you were really seeing what you thought you were.

Soft, round, liquid eyes. An openness in his face that he hadn’t let you into before. His mouth was still a grim line, turned down at the corners so slightly, had it been anyone but you, it would have gone unnoticed.

“Mouse...”

You tried to whisper but could barely manage that, his name creeping out on a hoarse gasp.

He moved his face closer to yours, lips almost touching.

“Don’t you get it?” he repeated.

You got it. Because everything he said was true for you, too. You’d started out as a liability, for sure, but you had continued to be one because Minho was your north star. Not Chan. Not the group. Not whatever sense of purpose you might have derived from the life you had cobbled together. If he said jump, you wouldn’t ask a thing. You would jump. You’d been following him since day one and, then, it might have been desperation, a lack of options. Now... well, there was still desperation: a desperate need for him, a desperate desire to be wanted by him, kissed by him, touched by him. You had other options. Options you would never take, not as long as he existed. You would stop existing before you ever thought of leaving him.

You nodded, feeling more like a foolish, vulnerable 16-year-old than you had when you were foolish and vulnerable and 16.

He sighed, breath sweet with the pudding he could never resist, and you were closing your eyes, tilting your chin up, expecting him to give in.

He turned away. You watched him, mouth agape in disbelief, as he pushed his hands through his hair.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” you screamed, bringing your hands down on his back in something that was half-shove, half-slap.

He had whipped around before you could lower your arms and you found your wrists caught in his hands.

“You don’t fucking stop, do you?” he hissed.

“Why would I stop?! I don’t want to stop, Minho! And nor do you! You can’t say you don’t! Because I KNOW. I KNOW you want it. I know you want me. And I’m fucking throwing myself at you. Take me! TAKE ME!”

His eyes were hard and dark. His fingers pushed so tightly into your wrists that you could feel your pulse against them. He was breathing heavily, nostrils flaring but lips shut tight, pressed together in a thin line.

“Take. Me,” you repeated, level and firm, not sure if he would, but sure that, if he didn’t, things would never be the same again.

You couldn’t do this a fourth time. Couldn’t put yourself in his hands, have him take you, and then... Not. And then stop. And then act as if you didn’t exist. That thread between you, tied up in your heartstrings, was taut, stretched, at its limit. And so were you.

The pause was painful. Excruciatingly long. Adrenalin coursed through you, making you hot, making you shake, making your heart beat so hard against your ribs you thought they might break. Thought your heart might break. Hadn’t been willing to admit how fragile it was but it felt like venetian glass now. You could already feel the cracks forming, the web extending, the shards-

He kissed you. Pulled you roughly towards him by your wrists and kissed you. Put his hands on your hips, then slid them under your top, and still kissed you. He was kissing you. It took a few seconds to slip back into your body, to feel it, the soft petal of his lips against yours, the sharp bite of his teeth, the wet warmth of his tongue. You forgot your shattering heart and grabbed his T-shirt, using it to pull him closer, to drag him into your shared bedroom.

Not that he needed dragging. You stumbled over each other’s feet as you tried to kiss and walk and grope all at once. You tumbled backwards onto his bed and took the brief separation as an opportunity to lose your top, to unclasp your bra. Your hands were in the waistband of your joggers when Minho climbed over you, topless now too, breathless as he mirrored your actions, pushing his trousers and his boxers over his hips. He huffed a frustrated sigh as you giggled, as he stood back up to take them all the way off, to kick them off his ankles and take yours away, too.

He didn’t give you time for admiration, for appraisal. He lay his body over you and his lips pressed against yours, quickly, firmly, before trailing them across your jaw and down your neck. He was every bit as vicious as you thought he would be, teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, sinking into your soft flesh. You wanted him to mark you, wanted the proof of it to last. You scraped your nails down his back and he hissed when you broke the skin. Hissed but didn’t complain. Hissed and moved his mouth lower, swirling his tongue around your nipple, sinking his teeth into that, too.

When you tugged on his hair, he pulled off, looked at you, his face an open question. You shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you panted. “I like it. I just want to pull your hair.”

He laughed and clamped his teeth over your breast again, harder this time, so you keened and your back arched into him. You twisted his roots in your fist and he moaned, eyes flicking up to yours as he kissed across the valley of your chest.

“Do that again.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, tipping your head back, doing as he had asked and tugging hard.

The ache you felt for him had ballooned inside you, taken up all your hollow spaces. There was your flushed skin and your fluttering heart, your rushing blood and your deep, persistent ache for Minho. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Mouse,” you whispered, voice tight with desire. “Touch me, please.”

You never asked. You didn’t beg. If you liked a guy, you let them do what they wanted with you, and if you didn’t, you took what you wanted. It was always one-sided.

But this wasn’t. It was Minho. It was the fathomless depth in his eyes as he lay his mouth all over you. It was the slip of his fingers through your soaked folds as he sucked sweet bruises against your neck. It was the sound of a moan caught in his throat when you wrapped your fingers around his hard, leaking length. It was mutual. It was reciprocated.

It was burning you up, hotter and sweeter than you’d ever felt before. His fingers sinking into your core made you shudder with delight. The twitch in his cock as you brushed your thumb over his head made your mouth water. The sound of his mumbled sweet nothings pressed against your skin, whispered in your ear, licked straight into your mouth, made you dizzy.

“So soft,” he said. “So wet... Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful... I’ve wanted this for so long... Wanted you...”

He used your name, your real one, the one he didn’t learn (didn’t ask for) for months after you met. You returned the favour, ‘Minho’ tripping from your lips, until he shook his head.

“Mouse,” he murmured, mouth still pressed against yours. “‘Mouse’ is yours.”

“Mouse,” you echoed and he nodded before kissing you so that you could say nothing at all.

You barely spoke, couldn’t catch your breath enough to form the words, couldn’t engage your faculties to find any to say. Minho spoke, though, more than you had ever heard him speak: praise and exclamation and remembrance and, yes, even admonition, but it was all so sweet, syrupy, dripping from his tongue like honey. You’d never heard him speak like this before, never had him melt in your hands or in your mouth, never felt him as easy and pliable as this.

It wasn’t just his body. It wasn’t just the perfect smoothness of his warm, soft skin. It wasn’t just the stretch, the fullness, he made inside you, the insistent rhythm of his hips thrusting his cock tightly into your slick, waiting warmth. It wasn’t just his wet, sugary mouth, at your lips, at your jaw, at your clavicle. It wasn’t just all these things he was doing to you, all the things you were doing to him.

It was his open eyes, round and shining and fluttering closed as your walls clenched around him. It was the tenderness in them, the depth he was letting you see, for more than just seconds at a time. It was the gentle tracing of your face with his fingers, even as he fucked into you, even as his teeth drew blood beneath your skin. It was Minho, the entirety of him. Yours. Finally yours. Finally giving in to you, giving himself to you.

You got it. You had said you did and you had, but now, beneath him in his bed as he loved you, you actually understood the magnitude of it. His feelings for you. Yours for him. Held back behind a dam for so many years and now, the dam had broken. Now came the deluge that would flood the world, could drown everyone in it.

To hell with them, you thought. To hell with anyone else. You found what you needed almost a decade ago. He found you. You found each other, somehow, by some miracle.

When the pleasure swelled up in your core, toes curling, back breaking, you cried out with all the breath you had in your lungs, felt tears sting in your eyes, and the following inhale wobbled and shook. Minho paused, pressed his forehead against yours, kissed you lightly, didn’t have to ask the question out loud.

You nodded and kissed him again, then again, each time hungrier than the last. You didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to feel anything but this, but him. He moved slower now, though, hips rolling smoothly, lips not leaving yours, even when he spoke, even when he murmured how fucking good you felt, how much better than he’d imagined, how hard he was trying not to come, how he didn’t want this to end.

You couldn’t take it. Thought you really would cry, thought you would collapse entirely under his weight, under the weight of everything you’d been carrying around, all these feelings: all this love and fear and frustration. He pushed you to the edge again without even trying, your red thread thoroughly tangled, inseparable now, and pulling a greater ecstasy from you than you had ever known.

He couldn’t hold out either, his final, sharp thrusts filling you with his sticky release. You held him there, as close as he could be. He kissed you, so light it was barely there, his fingers grazing your face as he pushed the hair from your brow.

“Mouse,” you choked, tears threatening your waterline.

He kissed you again, that little butterfly kiss; you’d never seen him be this gentle.

“Sixteen,” he whispered and, for possibly the first time, it didn’t sound like disdain, didn’t come accompanied by a smirk or an eye-roll; it was hushed and secret and just for you.

As it had always been.

You lay on his chest, bodies pressed together in the small, single bed, as they would have been even if the bed were bigger.

“I want some water,” he said, lips against your forehead before he manoeuvred himself out from underneath you. “Want a drink?”

You nodded and he smiled down at you as he fetched clean underwear and pulled a T-shirt over his head.

You watched him go, watched him open the door, and then heard the sound of party poppers, whoops, and applause.

The apartment was empty. Had been empty when you entered your bedroom. In the midst of everything, you had failed to notice the gang return home. They had not failed to notice you and Minho.

“Fucking finally!”

“You mean, they finally fucked?”

Laughter resounded from the living room. Minho turned around, closed the door, and climbed back into bed without a word.

#skz fanfic #skz smut #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lino x reader #lino fic #lino smut #minho x reader #lee minho #minho fanfic #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #lee minho fanfic

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pedgito · 11 months ago

Note

Hi Ali!! I love your writing and I was wondering if I can request dom Joel punishing you by riding his boot??

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary | joel doesn't like gifts, you gift him new boots. [3k]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no use of y/n, soft dom/sub dynamic, boot-riding, degradation kink, unprotected piv, one (1) face slap, porn with absolutely no plot.

author’s note | original working title for this was new boot goofin' because i can't take myself seriously, idk what this is but enjoy. kel (@beskarandblasters) suggested the actual title for this so thank you babe ♡

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic recs

Three things about Joel you were intensely sure of—he was a strong lover. He loved hard and he cared even harder, always willing to put your needs before his own, even to an unhealthy degree in some cases. Two, he liked to be in charge. With his willingness to put you before him, it also lended him to enjoy the role of being dominant in the right situations. He kept a lot of himself locked up around everyone but you. Through the few years you two have become close and started this relationship—if you could call it that—there’s a solid understanding of each other’s needs. He provides the domineering nature you crave and you subdued yourself to him willingly when he puts the facade on.

At first, it never left the bedroom. You both enjoyed the disguise of the dynamics to make things flow easier, not allow things to stall out so quickly and you had all the proper safety precautions in place to allow you both the happiness you seeked out. But, as most things in your life, they seeped through the cracks and bled out, intermingling with the rest of your daily life.

Sometimes it was just a look when you’d say something in public that was indecent or a comment that made Joel’s face go hot, knowing that despite his openness in public, he was still a very private man. He reserved that side for you and only you. And he did so much for you—not just around Jackson, but in your own home. With him being the lead guy for patrols and having such a…special relationship with him, it lended for more leniency when you weren’t feeling great or needed a break from the hectic energy that patrolling liked to suffocate people with, always on the brink of danger. And Joel was always too handy for his own good—always finding a reason to fix up a broken something in your own small house on the outskirts of Jackson.

Broken pipe? Fixed. Chair broken? Joel could shape you out a new one in a couple weeks.

Last week he had repainted then entirety of your kitchen cabinets because he thought they were looking a little dull—as if they weren’t run down from years of abandonment and like this wasn’t the fucking apocalypse. Despite that, you felt the urge to thank Joel. And not just thank him.

Properly. With a gift.

But—oh. Third thing, Joel hated gifts.

Despised them.

But, you weren’t always the best listener or rule follower.

A patrol with Tommy had you both scheming up an idea when you bring up the option of gifting something to Joel as a proper offering of appreciation, his hand resting loosely on the rifle slung around his chest, fingers tapping against the butt.

“Well—you know, there’s a clothing store a few miles east,” Tommy tells you, “Ellie and I found it when we cleared out that hoard a few months back—lotsa clothes and shoes, mostly untouched. We could check that out? I need to grab a few things myself anyways.”

You nod easily, “Yeah—that pair he has is falling apart. It drives me insane.”

“Joel doesn’t like to let go of things easily,” Tommy comments broadly, “He’ll make do with what he’s got until it falls apart.”

“Well, he doesn’t take no for an answer when I tell him to stop helpin’ me so he’s gonna have to suck it up just this once.” You smile slightly, earning a soft chuckle from Tommy.

You hoped it would go over well—because Joel did need new boots and there was little harm in an innocent gift…right?

–

Joel is brimming with an energy that only accompanied him after long patrols, the ones that lasted a few days and kept him away. Away from his home, away from you. He doesn’t even attempt the trek toward his own house, rather taking the first right and beelining for your small house at the end of the neighborhood, squeezing his leather covered hands into fists.

He’s anxious, pent up—not with anger or rage, but just a need to release some built up stress. Fortunately, he knew the perfect way to do that. His boots squeak against the hardwood of your front deck, the tattered rubber around the toe of his boot hanging on by a thread as he kicks it gently into the base of the door softly, idle as he busies his mind and prays that you’re still awake.

You’ve been waiting for him all day, his gift hidden away safely as you yank the door open excitedly, nearly tripping over your own pair of haphazardly thrown shoes on the floor.

Joel lets out a soft oof as he catches you, chuckling at your bright and beaming smile.

“Someone’s excited,” Joel chides playfully, though his voice is gruff. He sounds tired, looks it too, “been missin’ me, baby?”

You nod immediately, “So much,” You press a gentle kiss to his lips as he kicks the front door closed with his foot, slowly removing his layers—thick coat falling first, then his thinner jacket he wore underneath to leave him in a thick thermal, his skin still prickling with the winter chill but quickly warming underneath your touch, “everything go okay?”

“Yeah—just a bad storm comin’ in,” Joel explains, ignoring how distracted you were, allowing the soft pecks to his skin as you pulled away, slowly inserting yourself into his line of sight, mischievous grin plastered across your face, “—what are you up to, darlin’?

“Got a surprise for you,” You tease playfully, feeling his thick, calloused fingers slip under the thin material of your shirt, subconsciously seeking some contact with you, “can you go sit on the couch and close your eyes?”

Joel didn’t take too well to surprises, but he trusts you. So, he nods quietly, though there’s a slight hesitance to him as he takes a seat on the couch, slowly unlacing his boots in your absence to relieve some pressure but not taking them off completely, the tongue of the boot hanging lifelessly over his even more pathetic looking laces.

He can hear your soft footsteps as they approach, bare feet against the wood flooring as the couch dips slightly and he feels something hard and solid pressed into his hands.

“Okay, open ‘em,” You tell him gently, watching as he blinks his eyes open, expression mostly unchanging—it wasn’t unlike him to have little reaction, but it did worry you slightly, “—surprise?”

Okay, terrible idea. Got it.

“Darlin’,” God, you’ve heard that tone before, body tensing slightly, “I thought I told you I don’t need nothin’ in return from you.”

“Joel—you’re constantly helping me,” You argue softly, “it’s the least I could do. Plus, you need a new pair.”

“That’s not the point,” Joel tells you, “I do that stuff ‘cause I like knowin’ you’re comfortable, that you don’t have anything to worry about while I’m away.”

“And I worry about you too,” You interject quickly, “Joel—it’s just a gift, it’s okay.”

Joel places them on the table in front of him silently, contemplating thoughtfully.

He’s made it clear on several occasions that he doesn’t like things in return. That he does these things without the expectation of anything in return, but he appreciates the gesture. Joel isn’t used to people caring for him and it feels odd to allow it. And he sees the nervous energy inside of you brimming, like you’ve made a bad choice and you deserve the punishment.

Almost begged for it.

Your fists curl nervously in your lap, waiting for any sign that Joel had to offer.

And when he doesn’t respond, you find yourself curling into him out of instinct. Thighs spreading out over his lap as his hands follow the trail from your knees, up your thighs, until his thumbs are settling in the crease of your pelvis. You attempt a gentle kiss, but he’s reluctant to return it.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask quietly, a genuine curiosity in your voice.

Joel shakes his head slightly, but the hand guiding its way around your neck tells a different story, his fingertips rubbing against the softness of your jawline, forcing you to look at him properly.

“Nothin’ wrong, but I do think I need to remind you of somethin’,” Joel explains in a soft, but demeaning tone, “that when I tell you I can provide for you and don’t need anything in return—that I mean that.”

You wait with baited breath, blinking rapidly at how hot his breath feels against your skin, feeling your cunt throb with need, with an insatiable want for him.

“And since you wanna buy me a new pair of boots—well,” Joel chuckles darkly, feeling your fingers tighten into the thick fabric of his thermal, “you’re gonna have to help me break ‘em in.”

You look at him, perplexed. But, his pupils dilate under your gaze, the subtle shifting as he kicks off his old, tattered boots as nods subtly to the new pair behind you.

You sigh breathily, “Huh—Oh, you want me to—”

“Ride my boot, baby,” He tells you clearly, “Seein’ as it is my gift and all.”

There wasn’t even a moment of hesitation as you slipped from his lap, table skidding back deftly in the process—you grab for the new pair of work boots but Joel is quickly grabbing your face again, squeezing your cheeks sharply.

“Undress first.” Joel says, waiting for your nod of acknowledgement before he lets you go.

So, you do—layer by layer until you reach your bra, unhooking it with nimble fingers as he slips on his new boots. If this were anyone else, you would feel ridiculous. But, with Joel, there was something there, brewing on the surface. He respected you, but he also needed you to understand.

It was a little humiliating, but it wasn’t the worst thing.

Your fingers edge along the hem of your underwear when Joel stops your hands, “Keep those on.” He utters, his fingers dragging softly against the front of the cotton material until he’s cupping your pussy in his palm, soft wet spot growing in the fabric where his fingertips drag across—you’re enjoying this, clearly.

You lower yourself slowly, straddling his left leg with your knees tucked against the bottom of the couch he sat on, pressing your cunt against the cold leather of his steel-toed boot.

Joel relaxes then, arms spread wide over the back of the couch, fingers gripping loosely into the cushion. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” Joel comforts, sensing your brimming nervousness as your fingers trailed along his calf, the hard press of his boot right against your core and if you tried hard enough, it wouldn’t take long at all—knowing that even just a little bit of encouragement from Joel and friction could have you coming undone. But, he wants you to work for it.

You start slow, a subtle grind of your hips that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. You sigh softly at the relief, noticing the slowly growing smirk on Joel’s face that you’re trying to avoid, eyes falling shut slowly as you tip your head back, allowing a slow rhythm to start.

“Feels good?” Joel wonders, “Like the idea of me carryin’ somethin’ of you around with me?”

In more ways than one—by a simple gift from the kindness of your heart, but also the desperation of the slick that damped your underwear and painted a perfect mess over his boot.

You nod quietly, moaning softly as you angle your hips to allow the drag of your clit over the solidness of the boot, friction sending your eyes rolling back in your head, hands fisting into the thick denim and selfishly using it for leverage as you quickened your pace.

“That’s right, baby—want you to think about coming all over my boot for me,” Joel encourages, “can you do that?”

Truthfully, you were holding back. Seeing just how much you could get out of him.

But, Joel catches onto your game.

“You need a little encouragement?” Joel asks curiously, chin cupped in his strong grip, nodding obediently. “Think you deserve that, baby?”

“Please—please, Joel.” You beg, “Fuck—please, I’ll do—”

“Don’t say anything, darlin’.” He warns, “Not when you don’t know what that means for you.”

He keeps your eyes locked on his, squeezing your cheeks gently when you start to fade, the slowly building tingle in your core that wasn’t as easily ignorable now, coiled in your belly and ready to explode. You lose yourself for a brief second, hand fisting into the slack bunch of denim atop his thigh, earning a dull but stern slap to your cheek to bring your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, baby,” Joel coos, fisting the hard line of his cock under the strained denim with his free hand, looking slightly pained at how much he was holding back himself, “look at you—always eager to please, huh?”

You roll your eyes slightly—and Joel really doesn’t like that. His hand cradling the base of your neck as he holds you still, body pulled just centimeters away from his boot, leaving your pussy throbbing with a lack of contact that your body craved.

“Now you just look a little pathetic, don’t you?” Joel asks, “All needy for my fuckin’ boot—got her beggin’ for it, don’t I?” And you know he’s not addressing you directly, rather the pool of your own slick, shiny wetness on the toe of his boot that gives you away.

He nudges it against your clit gently, earning a soft whine as you hips instinctively seek for friction—Joel takes a slightly more firmer stance, head cradling both of his hands as he holds you prisoner in his gaze, two thick fingers slipping into your open mouth and grinning at how pathetically and greedily you suck on the digits without having to be told, removing them with a loud pop and a thin string of spit that connects you to him.

And if he was a stronger man, he could hold off. But, he’s so weak around you he can’t even hide it. He lets go in an instant, reaching for the front of his own jeans as he shoves them down his hips until he can manage to slip his cock out over his underwear, fisting himself in an instant.

Staving himself on patrols was torture when all he could think about was you—so he knows it won’t take much. Hell, he’s surprised with how long he’s been able to hold off now.

You admire with a haughty gaze, slowly resting back against the base of his boot, watching his free hand slip under his heavy sack, massaging as he jerks his fist without much rhythm, blinded by his own selfish need for release.

“Keep goin’,” He encourages through a tight breath, “but don’t fuckin’ come, darlin’.”

Your hole clenches and flutters around nothing, wishing that it was his cock stuffed inside of you rather than the plane of his boot pressed against your pussy, the thickness of his fingers alongside the girthiness of his cock a blatant reminder of how deeply you felt him in the mornings and even days after, always fucked so throughly it had you reeling and constantly crawling back for more.

He jerks himself selfishly, eyes falling shut as he feels himself dragging too close to the edge, your moans gaining in intensity, knowing how pathetic you would both look to anyone else. But, there was no one to judge you here—and Joel was beyond feeling the need to be assertive, rather just needing you, to be inside you and have you snug around him and crying on his cock.

Joel pulls you out of your daze hastily, manhandling you until you’re back is flat against the couch, quickly shoving his jeans down far enough that they don’t become a hindrance as he pulls your underwear aside and slips inside of you with a solid push of his hips, the slickness of your cunt allowing no resistance as you both groan at how good it feels, eyes connecting for a brief moment before everything goes black…or white.

Joel isn’t sure what he sees, but it only takes a few minutes of some hurried and desperate pumps of his hips as his cock nudges that particular spot deep inside of you that has you clawing at the bare skin you could reach, leaving red marks on his neck as he snaps his hips with a finality, coming with a low groan that has your legs shaking, bent nearly in half as he still manages to see through his own haze and drag his fingers over your clit—it doesn’t take more than a couple seconds before you're there, spasming around his cock with a sob, gasping at his overstimulating touch as he continues to press and circle your clit until you’re begging him to stop, his hips slowly pumping his cum inside of you.

Joel finds himself laying slack against you, pants down at his ankles as he allows your fingers to thread through his grown out curls from where his head rests against your chest, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

“I appreciate the boots,” He says after a while, “if that wasn’t already obvious.”

“Oh, I’m aware.” You giggle softly.

“Seriously, no more gifts, though.” Joel says sternly, “I mean it.”

You pout slightly and Joel catches it, his eyes flicking up to look at you.

“I’m makin’ no promises to that.” You tell him truthfully.

Joel chuckles softly, “Can’t say I expected you to, either.”

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x fem!reader #my writing #pedrostories

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runninriot · 3 months ago

Text

Dirty Wishes On My Mind

written for @steddiesongfics and @steddiesmuttyseptember

inspired by the song FU In My Head by Cloudy June | SSS prompt: clothes on | rated: E | wc: 4.172 | tags: sexual content, indecent behaviour in public (but they don't get caught), dirty talk, dry humping, coming in pants, confessions, realisations, Eddie has a Crush on Steve, Steve has a Revelation, friends to lovers | complete fic on ao3

“I’m telling you, Stevie! That guy had no shame whatsoever. Didn’t even hesitate to pull blank in front of me to show off that ridiculous tattoo right above his dick. It was horrendous! I even offered to cover it up for free but he declined, said the ladies dig it.”

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. The things you have to put up with sometimes in his field of work never ceases to amaze him.

“But hey, can’t say I didn’t like the overall view. A feast for my imagination. I’ll definitely use it the next time I’m ‘feeling lonely’.”

He uses his fingers to sign quotation marks and wiggles his eyebrows, delighted at the blush creeping up Steve’s cheeks when he realises what Eddie means by that.

Steve’s always been a little shy when it comes to talking about these things but they’ve been friends long enough for him to have gotten used to Eddie’s big, unfiltered mouth.

Eddie loves to rile him up, just a little, never so much that it makes him truly uneasy but enough to get a little kick out of it himself.

Steve’s cute when he blushes.

He’s damn fucking pretty, always, is the thing.

So what if Eddie stares a little too obvious? It’s not his fault Steve is so-

Nevermind.

He averts his gaze, takes a sip from his drink to cool off, giving Steve the chance to change the subject to something else.

"Sometimes I fuck you in my head."

Eddie splutters his mouthful of beer half over himself, half over the table, can't believe he heard Steve right.

No. That must be a mistake because he can't possibly have said that.

Right?

"I don't know why, it's just- sometimes when I touch myself, I think of you, you know?"

Eddie does, in fact, not know. Because what?

"Steve, dude, look at me. Did you take something? Without me?"

He must've. There's no way he'd talk that much bullshit if he was sober. They've only been here for ten minutes, fifteen max, both still on their first beer and there is no way in hell Steve is already that drunk.

So this must be something else.

Because it is absolutely impossible that his straight best friend would ever fantasize about anything other than boobies and soft lips and long lashes and, hell, maybe even a tight juicy ass – a woman’s ass – to get him going. Steve Harrington does not think about guys when he touches himself. And most certainly not about Eddie.

He’s messing with him, that must be it. A little revenge for Eddie being insufferable.

“Hah, yeah you got me there, Harrington. For a second, I really thought you’d lost your mind,” Eddie laughs half-heartedly in a weak attempt to cover up the slight tremble in his voice.

For a second you got me thinking my pining ass died and went to heaven, is the thought he keeps to himself.

Another second goes by and Eddie is still waiting for Steve to laugh, to maybe swat his arm and tell him ‘Ha! Got’cha! You should see your stupid face.’ but that doesn’t happen. Instead, the air thickens and the tension between them makes Eddie nervous.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Steve opens his mouth.

But somehow, that only makes it worse.

“Is- is that bad?”

Steve turns away, eyes now locked on his own hand where it’s wrapped tightly around his bottle. Something in his friend’s demeanour shifts; it’s like he’s slowly sinking into himself, like he’s trying to hide.

“Stevie, hey.” Eddie brings his thumb and finger to Steve’s chin, using gentle force to make him look back up again.

He seems so small all of a sudden, sad somehow, but he huffs out an awkward laugh and rolls his eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Heat spreads in every part of Eddie’s face, up to his ears and down to his chest and his heart skips a beat because-

Steve didn’t take it back. He didn’t confirm Eddie’s assumption of it being a joke, no. He apologised because he thinks he did something wrong.

“It’s not bad, Steve. I’m just- a little confused.”

Eddie’s hand moves on its own account, wanders higher up, fingertips lightly dancing across his jaw line and over his cheek until they reach Steve’s hair line just above his ear where he can’t help but dive deeper into his soft strands.

He doesn’t miss the moment Steve’s eyes flutter shut for a too long second, and how his lips slightly part when he lets out a sigh.

“Why would you think of me when you’re- I thought you’re-“

Straight, Eddie struggles to say, fears it would come out wrong, maybe sound like an insult which it is not.

Of course, not. Everyone’s free to love and like whatever and whoever they want. It’s just- it bothers Eddie more than he likes to admit because Steve being straight means that he’ll never have a chance.

That his stupid heart will forever be suffering because his best friend will never be more than that. Not his lover, not his partner, only his friend. And that’s okay, that’s fine, perfect even. It’s more than Eddie could hope for.

But that’s exactly what makes it so hard to wrap his head around Steve’s unexpected confession. That’s why it takes Eddie’s breath away when Steve leans into his touch, pupils blown wide in the cosy light of the bar.

“I-“ Steve stops himself, digs his teeth into his bottom lip as if to prevent any more words from slipping out.

Eddie feels like he’s in trance, doesn’t even know what he’s doing until it’s too late, until his hand has already wandered back down, thumb touching soft flesh when he pulls it free from Steve’s bite, lingering there, tracing the seam – he can’t stop, can’t not push between parted lips where Steve welcomes him with just a hint of tongue, warm and wet.

And Eddie has to swallow a startled moan.

---

continue reading here

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #steddie fic #steddiesongfics #steddie smutty september #steddie events

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months ago

Text

The Man 14

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd wheezes and rubs his chest. You look down at him from the other side of chaise. You have to fight to keep the grin from your face. Your eyes slowly drift to the door.

“Don’t even fucking think—of it,” he huffs as he kicks the chaise into your leg. You wince and let out an ow, “you’re in big fucking trouble now, baby face.” He rolls onto his shoulder and presses his hand to the floor, “fuck.”

“Sir, I didn’t do anything--”

“You know what the fuck you did,” he snarls as he sits up.

“I did nothing. I’m sorry I’m weak,” you pout, “I couldn’t hold on--”

“Oh my piss!” He pushes himself up to his feet, standing straight with effort, “you don’t stop. You’re going to drive me fucking nuts.”

You’re quiet as you watch him. Is he not already there? He kidnapped you pretty much and hates you but won’t let you leave. It really seems insane to you.

“Sir, with all due respect, I have offered to leave you alone.”

“You just need to learn to shut your mouth,” he stomps around the chaise.

You scramble into action and back away from him, making a circle around the piece of furniture as he advances, “now, sir,” you put your hands up, “I thought we were having fun. Playing a little game and you know when you play games, you can get hurt.”

“Stop, come here,” he snarls as he gets closer and you hop backwards to evade his reach.

“That seems like a bad idea.”

“I said stop!”

“You say stop but your eyes say run,” you babble.

“This is your problem. You just don’t get who’s in charge. Me. I am!” His voice rises to a roar.

Your eyes round, “I get it, F—Lloyd, I truly understand it. My dad too was a strict man.”

“Dad? What the fuck are you talking about?”

You continue your circles around the chaise, dizzy as you stagger on your heels.

“I’m saying that I have known men like you--”

“You’re comparing me to your dad?”

“Well, I’m no fan of Freud by any means--”

“Jesus!”

He lunges and you dodge out of his way. He hits the square side table and you yipe. You don’t think you just go. You spin on your feet and race for the door. You let your adrenaline do the thinking as you rip it open and stumble into the hall.

You won’t get far. You’re not stupid. You’re naked as sin and if you leave the house, you see a quick trip in a cruiser for indecent exposure. Still, you might find somewhere to wait out his rage. Just like with your dad.

Alright, let’s cool it on the daddy issues here.

You pump your arms as your feet slap on the floor. He’s following you. You can hear him. Like a charging bull. You can’t look back. You won’t.

You veer around the corner and don’t have time to think. You don’t know where the heck you’re going. Far away from him is the only option you have. You barrel down the next hall, chest burning, head spinning. You keep going as your puffing fills your head and smothers out his pursuit.

You can’t go any further. You have to stop. You have to hide!

You open a door. Shit. It’s a closet but hey, there’s blankets. No time to think, just get in. You climb in an pulled down one of the folded waffle blankets. You shut the door, closing yourself into darkness and wrap yourself in the coveted warmth of the cotton.

You hear him catch up. He’s just on the other side of the door. He growls and his heel squeaks on the floor. He paces back and forth, opening this door and that. He might think you’re smart enough not to choose the linen closet but that means he’s learned nothing.

You wait until he’s gone. You shake your head. Having a big house is such a hassle. You can’t imagine cleaning a place like this, although he is the type to hire a cleaner so he probably doesn’t either. Still, what if you lost your phone in here?

You let the tension flow out and lean back against the wall, keeping your neck bent under the shelf. You sit, folded up in the cramped space, and resign yourself to the tight purgatory. He just needs a minute. He’ll exhaust himself with his tantrum and then you’ll be okay.

Besides, it seems pretty easy to distract. A few strokes and he’s compliant. Just like a cat. Not to mention he has the whiskers too.

👄

Despite the uncomfortable circumstance you’ve stuffed yourself into, you fall asleep. There’s something about a traumatic experience that really takes it out of you. You don’t realise you’ve dozed off until the world falls out from under you and you sprawl out on the floor outside the closet.

Your shoulder hits the cold wood and a woman lets out an exclamation, “Mr. Hansen! Mr. Hansen! There’s--” She sputters as she stares down at your dopey eyes, blinking up at her as reality slowly seeps back in, “there’s a woman!”

She flutters off and you watch after her. That must be the cleaner. How’d you call it?

As you sit up, you hear the echoing footsteps. It’s too late. You’re a goner. You clear your throat and cling to the blanket as you stand to face the music, rather, the mustache.

Lloyd charges down the hall with long strides. You peer around, realising the windows are rather bright, also noting his change of clothes. Either you slept through the night or that closet has time traveling capabilities.

“There the fuck you are,” he sneers.

“Hello, sir, fine morning--”

“Don’t,” he stops in front of you and points in your face, “here’s the deal, alright? We start over.”

“So if we’re going back to the beginning, can I go home--”

“Zip. It.” He chops the air with his hand. “You’re not leaving, let’s get that clear. Now, you are not here to talk or do whatever it is you do. You are here to serve me. You are here because you need to learn a thing or two about authority. About who the fuck I am.”

“Lloyd Jansen,” you mumble and his face pales as the vein in his forehead throbs. “Hansen!” You say louder, “understood, sir.”

“Why are you like this?” He asks.

You stare at him. You’re going to try. The olive branch he extends is brittle and thin but it’s something.

“I will be good, sir,” you put your chin, “I’ll try. I accept. Start again.” You keep yourself from saluting and instead, extend your hand to him, “deal?”

He stares you in the face then looks down at your hand. He exhales and his cheek twitches. He reaches to shake your hand firmly. He grips tightly until your bones ache. You whimper and wilt.

“Please, for the love of god,” he begs as he holds onto you, “stop talking for five minutes.”

You can’t agree. Not aloud. So, you seal your lips emphatically and nod. He lets you go and you look at your wrist but there’s no watch there. You glance at him and shrug, holding up five fingers. He sighs and pinches his nose.

“Just don’t talk unless I tell you too.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #mob au #au #the man #the gray man

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tsukimefuku · 7 months ago

Text

nanamin ❖ nanami kento

summary: you decide to ask nanami why he keeps getting called ‘nanamin’.

tags: jujutsu kaisen, f!reader, soft/implied nanami x reader, crack drabble, reader is a relentless little devil.

wc: 0.4K

notes, etc: this poor, poor man. this drabble references wardrobe malfunction.

❖ collection of stories: "jujutsu partners au" → masterlist for fics listed in chronological order of events

“So… I couldn’t help but notice Yuuji keeps calling you ‘Nanamin’ like Gojo used to do,” you noted as you were both walking down the streets of Tokyo towards your next mission.

He involuntarily sighed as he answered, “yes, he does.”

“So… Why is that?”

“I couldn’t say. Kids are… Something.”

“Gojo isn’t a k-” you halted for a second, as Nanami looked at you, and you proceeded with, “you know what, nevermind.”

After a few seconds, you felt the urge creeping up on you.

The teasing demon was taking hold.

“Hey, what if I called you Nanamin?”

“I’d slap you,” he answered, not missing a beat.

You chuckled lightly.

“You’re way above hitting me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he answered, in his characteristically nonchalant way. “Why are you so hellbent on nicknaming me since… always?”

“Because it’s fun!” you replied, grinning widely, “it’s a way to show you appreciate someone, and that you get to poke fun at them with affection and such.”

He looked at you and lifted an eyebrow.

“Should I start calling you public indecency then, considering the time you called me to lend you some clothes because you blew yours up in the middle of a mission?”

You stopped in your tracks immediately, and blushed for a second.

Nanami realized he might have taken this a little too far, knowing he could come off as harsh sometimes.

“N-nanami, I-I… I mean… Uh…”

You were stuttering for a moment, remembering the silly debacle.

“I… I apologize,” he offered in earnest, as you were still standing there, looking away.

To be fair, your embarrassment was real in the first few moments, but realizing he was actually feeling bad about it kind of stirred up your antics. So you kept going.

“I mean, we had an agreement we’d never talk about it again… how could you…?” you remarked in the most gut wrenching way possible.

Even under his stoic facade, he seemed to pale.

“I’m truly sorry, I really didn’t mean to… I-”

The man was faltering.

You couldn’t hold your laughter, and when he realized what you were doing, his eyes were completely taken by annoyance.

“Were you pretending to be mortified?”

“Not in the beginning, but your face-” you interrupted yourself with another cackle.

He sighed and resumed his stride, saying, “I am not addressing you for the remainder of the day.”

Wiping a few tears from your face, you sprinted slightly to follow him.

“Oh, come on, Nanamin… Don’t sulk… Nanami? Nanami!”

He did, in fact, ignore you for the rest of the day.

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thefanficmonster · 6 months ago

Text

Heavy Metal Lover pt.2

PART 1

Colby Brock x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Smoking, Paranormal Investigations, Drinking, Swearing, Suggestive Content, Vague Sexual Themes

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Angst with a happy ending, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right? Or at least that's what Y/N and Colby hope is the case.

NOTE: Sam and Kat are still together in this fic. This detail is not meant to be disrespectful to Sam's current girlfriend in any way.

A rude reminder in the form of dizziness and nausea hits Y/N like a ton of bricks when she sits up all too quickly for her state. A reminder of her excessive partying last night. She was aware the night wouldn't be on a list of her proudest moments for a multitude of reasons even as she was actively indulging interested men in the club - so, she just went with it. Went along with the unruly stream of the river that is a wild night in Vegas. She's not at all pleased with the memory of her eagerness to end the night in someone else's bed - which would've been a mission successful had she not been dragged away from this one guy whose name she can't even recall now. That, in and of itself, is enough of an indication that going home with him or taking him back to her hotel room would've been a bad idea.

She isn't entirely certain who saved her from herself in her active pursuit of a one night stand but her foggy memory suggests it may have been Kat. Y/N would love to thank her for the intervention but a quick roll over to her other side reveals her best friend to still be in her bed, solidly asleep at the ripe early hour of....- she checks her phone - noon.

The most appropriate of times to wake up in Vegas, really.

With a brief outfit change into something that wouldn't get her in trouble for indecent exposure she quietly exits the room as to not disturb Kat who is barely giving any signs of life other than the slow rise and fall of her chest. That's good enough to convince Y/N she'll be ok while she goes to fetch them coffee to get them through the day - their last whole day in Vegas.

Their schedule isn't as packed as yesterday's, thankfully. Unlike the turmoil of the flight, hotel check-in, Oasis investigation and the very late night bar crawl, today they only have the last two items on their itinerary: another investigation and an even later bar crawl. Maybe some gambling if they manage to squeeze it in before they have to take an hour long roadtrip to yet another motel with a shady past and paranormal intrigue.

The hallway is wobbly in front of Y/N, her vision still under the influence of all the tequila - and everything else Kat offered her - she ingested last night. Shot after shot, each thrown back with a silent prayer that it would aid her forgetfulness into erasing whatever happened at the Oasis Motel from her mind. If anything, each drop of alcohol only made it clearer, bringing to light details that were shadowed in the overall power the moment held.

The softness of his lips, warmth of his hands, the scent of his cologne, the weight of his body pressed atop hers on the bed. She was reliving it the whole night as she did her best to avoid him entirely. Talking to him, looking at him, being in the vicinity of his aura, breathing in his direction. And yet she still felt him all around her, all over her. A sensation not even the hottest boiling shower wouldn't wipe off her skin.

Now, if only she could pretend to be blind, deaf and not fluent in English because there's no other way to avoid the oncoming figure without making the lingering awkward tension even thicker...

"Hey."

Neither Y/N nor Colby looks particularly pleased with the fact that the silence had to be broken. Still, unlike her, he should've prepared himself better seeing as how he actively went in search of her. After all, the two cups of coffee in his hand are for her and Kat.

The warmth seeping in through the walls of the cups reminds him of the reason he took this venture in the first place and gives him an easy out of this silence that has befallen them. Still, he lingers in the buzzing quiet between them for a few seconds longer before extending the low-key peace offering her way, "Thought you and Kat could use a pick-me-up."

It's more so testing the waters than a peace offering. There never was nor will there ever be peace between them. As much of a natural disaster as they are, it would be far more detrimental to the planet if they were to put an end to their war and start getting along. It would cause a disturbance on a fundamental level. But after what happened back at the forsaken motel, Y/N would be a fool to think he too isn't as impacted as her.

Colby from 24 hours ago would never bring her coffee. If anything, he'd bring only one cup for Kat, just to prove a point. So much for pretending like nothing happened...

"Which one is poisoned?" Y/N, on the other hand, is better at this play pretend. The whirlwind of emotions and flashbacks manage to stay exactly where they're supposed to be - inside her head. Not an ounce spills over into her body language, expression or words.

Her question almost fills him with relief. Almost. It's a double-edged bitter sword. On one hand, he'd like nothing more than to let things settle back into normality. On the other, he doesn't want to forget what happened between them. Scratch that, let me rephrase - it's not like he can forget what happened. It's been permanently etched into his brain and there is no reversing that process. He simply doesn't want to pretend nothing happened.

When, in fact, everything happened at once. Seven years of animosity crashed and molded together in one burning kiss that had a lot of potential to lead further. But neither of them allows their thoughts to wander down that path.

"It's a gamble." He shrugs all too casually, his outward demeanor not at all corresponding with his internal turmoil.

Y/N can't help but snort at his remark. In the seven years they've known each other, a snort or a scoff is the closest he's managed to get to provoking a laugh from her. She'd never give him that satisfaction, especially not now.

"You better pray nothing happens to Kat or I'll end you." Despite the bite of her words, she still accepts the cups she's being offered. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. Still, she's particularly mindful in avoiding any sort of contact between their hands in the process.

Colby shakes his head with a sigh, "Sheesh, I'm never doing you a good deed ever again."

Y/N allows herself one second of vulnerability - letting her eyes trail over to his tired ones. She sees her own emotions reflected back at her and it only worsens the hangover nausea in the pit of her stomach. That's mainly why the words that leave her mouth end up sounding so bitter, "I'd rather you didn't."

With that, she turns on her heel and makes her way back to her and Kat's shared room, paying no mind - or at least trying not to - to the silence she leaves trailing behind her, suggesting Colby is still in the exact spot, watching her go.

He's used to it, though. He's been watching her go for seven years now, never once having the courage to grab ahold of her before she's out of reach.

* * * * *

Their casino trip was a blur of disappointment and strings of curses before they chose to end it and hop in the car to head over to the Redfield Motel with only a couple earned and many lost dollars in - or missing from - their pockets. Kat abstained from the majority of the gambling to keep an eye on the competitive three that lost far more money than they're willing to admit.

"Hope we have more luck with the paranormal." Sam jokes as the car pulls into the small parking lot of the old but still classy-looking motel that, in comparison to the Oasis, looks like a five star resort.

With that, the gang exits the car with newfound enthusiasm - more so aimed at the partying they'll indulge in after this investigation. Sam and Kat grab the camera equipment while Y/N slings the strap of the duffle bag containing all the investigation equipment over her shoulder. However, she's barely taken five steps away from the car before the bag is swiped from her grasp.

She's not given any time to comprehend what just happened and can only glare at the back of Colby's head as he walks in front of her, not sparing her even s fleeting look.

It's so....normal, for lack of a better term. It's the kind of pettiness Kat swears is their own twisted love language. It's so '24 hours ago' it almost eases her mind.

Almost

And fuck does she hate that word.

"Welcome!" The motel owner meets them at the main entrance with a smile, "I'm Sharon. So happy to be giving you a tour tonight. Our little motel has never really been the most popular and I'm hoping to maybe get the public interested in it. We're opening for official business in about a month which is why we can't have you guys staying the night here. I hope that's not a problem in any way." She explains as she leads them inside in the lobby decorated in a 1920's style reminiscent of Hotel Cortez.

It does elicit a bit of suspicion among the group - the popularity seeking right before a grand reopening, the overall horror aesthetic of the décor, the ominous piano music playing from the carefully disguised sound system. Sam and Colby are no stranger to paranormal baiting from establishments that, at the end of the day, only ever wanted the publicity. It's always been a slippery slope that usually a Google search would be enough to settle but they can never be too sure. Each time they visit an established or in the process of re-establishment hotels or motels, it's a gamble for their reputation and authenticity.

Y/N is a lot less concerned with the honesty behind the supposedly paranormal stories Sharon is currently sharing with them. She's all too focused on appearing composed and relaxed in front of the camera. The blinking red light is almost taunting her, reminding her that she can't let her mask slip off for even a second. No matter the fact that Colby's arm is brushing against her each time either of them moves.

"I'm not sure if I mentioned this over the phone, but I am also a Priestess. I've been calling myself a medium for the longest time until I was corrected by my daughter who's done a bit more research in the terminology and stuff." Sharon's words snap Y/N out of her raging thoughts, momentarily breaking her intense awareness of the camera. Following the motion of the older woman's hands, she sees a small suitcase that has been prepped open to reveal a Ouija board, Tarot cards and scattered crystals among other items.

Although a fan of the paranormal, she's never managed to fully shake the uneasiness that the sight of a Ouija board brings on. Still, she manages to swallow it down and not show it. God forbid she gives Colby the opportunity to mock her again. She might actually deck him this time, her nerves are that haywire.

"We've worked with a Priestess before but we never got to properly understand how that title is different from a medium." Sam says, balancing the camera's weight on his right shoulder as to give his arm a small break.

Sharon gives a small chuckle at his statement, motioning to the deck of Tarot cards and Ouija board, "Well, I can make a rather accurate estimation of your past and future as well as communicate with spirits. I cannot see them, though. I can also do a protection ritual. From what I understand you put yourselves in a lot of potentially dangerous situations without much care for your safety."

Yeah, well, she isn't far from the mark. And all four members of the group know that, which is why they are quick to agree to the protection ritual.

"Can we also have our cards read?" Colby suddenly inquires, earning him the puzzled looks of his friends, "It'd be interesting to see if the reading aligns with what the last Priestess told us."

Sam takes less than a second to agree, thrilled at the idea of putting the cards - and their readers - to the test. Kat and Y/N, although not nearly as thrilled to have their future read - in their case, for the first time ever - they don't disagree. Instead, they exchange a somewhat encouraging 'why not?' look and press onward, following Sharon and the guys into the ballroom like restaurant of the motel.

A insight and guidance Tarot spread is laid out on one of the tables, each card picked out by the person whose turn it is as they get told their futures one by one with Kat going first - an act to encourage her best friend to follow suit after seeing the positive overview she got. Y/N's is a bit more wishy-washy with no certainty of anything bad happening in her future but still there seemed to be an undertone of weariness to each card she picked. Sam was completely in awe of how identical this reading was to his last one, so much so he didn't even really pay much mind to what the future may hold. And lastly, it is Colby's turn.

His reading goes without a hitch - again, as was the case with Sam's - eerily identical to the one he got back at the Conjuring house. That is until...

"Is it against any rules for me to ask a question on his behalf?" His best friend interferes just as the reading is about to come to a close.

Sam ignores the puzzled arch of Colby's eyebrow and focuses his attention on Sharon who shakes her head, "Not at all. What would you like to know?"

The smile on the blonde's face, although sneaky, has a small tinge of apology as he gives Colby a brief glance before asking the question he was pondering voicing since before the reading even started, "Colby has never had much luck in the love department, not by fault of his own, though." The last part is added after a two second delay during which Colby didn't bother hiding the comical offense he took to Sam's implications. It provoked a genuine laugh from Y/N and Kat who are now operating the camera as a team effort in order to keep the two targets in frame and capture each of their reactions. "So...can we get some insight on that? What can we do to change that?"

Sharon doesn't even attempt to stifle the laugh Sam's words elicit. It's far from the first time she's been asked this question in her career but the phrasing of this one specifically is quite amusing. Luckily, she can help.

"I doubt there's much you can do for him." She says, causing Sam's face to comically fall into a faux frown, causing Colby and the girls to cackle. Afterwards, her attention is turned to her reading subject, "However, I can give you a brief love spread reading if you'd be open to it."

Being open to it Colby is most definitely not, especially on such a sore topic. But he'd never allow himself to let his audience down like that. Just like Y/N, there are times he's too aware of the camera for his own good. Sure, this part can be edited out later but that would alter the authenticity of the entire experience. So, with a suppressed sigh he decides 'what the hell' and agrees to withstand a love reading.

He picks his cards and flips them over in the order Sharon instructs him, watching intently as the furrow of her brows deepens as she observes the combination of three cards on the table. "Huh..." She tilts her head to the side, confused.

Her reaction is far from what Colby expected or wanted to hear. In his head he's already made a plan of adopting a dozen cats and buying a house in the woods when Sharon finally speaks up again. "Am I right in assuming that you're single at this moment in time?"

Although taken aback by the question, Colby still nods, "Yes. Have been for the past couple of years, actually." He's so ready to get revenge on Sam as soon as fucking possible for putting him in this position even though he knows he's coming from a place of love and care.

Sharon chuckles, her eyebrows lifting impossibly high, "If I may be brutally honest with you - it seems like it's your fault." Seeing Colby's face morph in horror, she hurries to offer an explanation, "You see, what the cards are telling me is that you've already met 'the one' and..." she taps the middle card which just happened to be The Lovers, "...there's nothing standing in the way of you two being together. Had you not confirmed that you're single, I would've thought you two are already in a relationship."

Sam and Kat are busy exchanging a mixed set of looks - his rather surprised and hers bordering onto grateful. They both know why he brought up the question and Kat is extremely thankful that he's still supporting her matchmaking agenda. And good thing they were busy with their telepathic communication, otherwise they would've seen the not-at-all subtle moment of vulnerability between their friends.

A moment of weakness. A moment in which they both seemed to have lost control of their motor skills and their sense of rationality. The revelation sent Colby's head snapping directly in Y/N's direction, his eyes meeting hers and mirroring the terror they saw there. Her body is rigid much like his own. Their faces are painted with a look of horror no paranormal entity has ever managed to provoke from them. It's a look that is begging for reassurance, asking the silent question 'there's no way, right?'

Had this happened 24 hours ago, it would've been a laughing matter. Now, it's a cause for massive discomfort and uneasiness. Because, no matter how in denial they wanna be, the suspicious 'what if?' lingers at the back of their minds.

24 hours ago he would've been disgusted at the idea. He would've been adamant that if she in fact is the one, he'd rather die alone. Not that he'd ever think it plausible.

But now...

"So, what you're saying is..." Kat breaks the silence, looking between Sharon and a distressed Colby, "He needs to pull his head out of his ass as soon as possible?"

The Priestess nods, "Pretty much. Both him and his potential partner need to give each other a shot. Preferably soon. By the sound of it, it's already been too long."

If Colby didn't know any better, he'd be offended. Or rather, he would find it in himself to be offended if he wasn't still prowling through his brain to find a branch to grasp onto in this emotional flood. A twinge of rationality to comfort him, reassure him he's being ridiculous. That this is ridiculous.

Yet a part of him, a self-sadistic - or, well, masochistic - part of him hopes it may be true.

Y/N on the other hand wants to puke and for the first time today it has nothing to do with last night's tequila. She's horrified by the way her heart fluttered the moment their eyes met. She wishes she could grab ahold of her heart and physically slow it down because she's a few beats short of a heart attack right now.

When Kat's hand lands on her arm, her soul nearly evaporates from her body. "Shit, girl, sorry. Didn't mean to freak you out." Her best friend apologizes, squeezing Y/N's hand in an attempt to calm her down, "You ok?"

Nodding rapidly, the girl hurries to reassure her very worried friend, "Yeah I just spaced out, no worries."

Although clearly unconvinced, Kat doesn't press on. She's always approached Y/N like a wounded wild animal, worried she might shut herself away if she feels like she's being put under pressure. Or worse, she'd hate to lose her friendship if she were to bring up her theory of whatever might be going on between her and Colby. She can only imagine how badly she'd flip out if she were to find out.

So, Sam and Kat alike have long decided to never let either Y/N or Colby find out their agenda.

"If you say so...", with a small nod Kat motions to the bag on the floor as she balances the one she's holding, "Could you grab that? We're gonna leave them at the front desk before we go to the diner."

The last thing Y/N's unruly stomach wants right now is food but there's no way in hell she's gonna say anything and garner further suspicion from her friends. So, she nods in agreement, watching Kat as she follows Sam out in the hall before turning to pick up the appointed bag.

And suddenly her hand's been burned.

Both her and Colby jump back when the unexpected skin-to-skin contact brought on the feeling of an acid burn.

He wants to apologize, though there is nothing to really apologize for. It's such a miniscule and insignificant moment for an onlooker that they'd be perceived as utterly ridiculous for reacting so dramatically. Luckily for that onlooker mind reading isn't a thing, otherwise they'd see some ungodly images flashing through the pair's heads.

God forbid they heard me calling them a pair. They'd have me beheaded.

"Let me." He says, his voice rougher than he'd intended. He flinches at the sound of it and cringes even more when she does in fact let him take the bag, stepping away from the spot she'd crouched to collect it from the floor.

And again he finds himself in the agonizing position of watching her go without having a morsel of a chance to stop her. Truly, there's nothing he could say even if he were to stop her. They've always had a preference for few words - rather hostile ones, at that. So, what's there to say? They said plenty but not via words just last night.

If only they could resume that conversation.

"Hey!" Y/N calls out to Kat, picking up the pace of her steps so she can catch up to her.

Disentangling her arm from Sam's, she turns to her best friend, "What's up?"

On instinct, Y/N links their arms together in silent gratitude for, well, everything. Years of friendship. Years of Kat putting up with all seasons of her attitude. "I never got to say thank you for not letting me home with that guy. And I'm sorry if I was being bitchy about it. I know you did it for my own good."

It's far from the first time Kat has had to pull such a maneuver to keep Y/N safe. Hell, she dragged her out of this guy's car once. No feat is too big when it comes to keeping each other safe, and that goes for both sides. Although the rescue missions have been pretty one sided, seeing as how one has far less self preservation. I'll let you have a guess who that is.

The expected reassurance never comes, beckoning Y/N's gaze to Kat's face where she finds a pretty confused expression. "What guy?"

Mortification seeps into Y/N's bloodstream with a searing heat creeping up the back of her neck. "'What guy' as in you don't remember or 'what guy' as in there were several?" She doesn't really wanna hear the answer, rather she sink into the floor, but she has to know. Ignorance is bliss and all that but it's also the coward's weapon. And she ain't no coward.

"No, no. I mean, yeah, there were several..." Kat is very obviously and very unsuccessfully trying to soften the blow of the answer's delivery, "But you only danced with them. There was this one you were adamant on leaving with but thankfully Colby stopped you."

No amount of cushioning would've prevented that sentence from hitting her like a ton of bricks.

Kat mistakes her silence for anger so she hurries to add on to her previous statement, "He did the right thing, though! Please don't be mad at him."

Oh, I'm mad at him. But not for the reasons you might think...

Y/N snaps out of her thoughts with a shake of her head, "No, no, I'm not mad at him. In fact, I should probably thank him."

To say Kat is taken aback by these unbelievable words would be an understatement, "Ok, let's not got that far. I don't know what natural disaster may occur if you do that."

Oh, they've gone a lot further than Kat can ever imagine.

The tension of uncertainty climbs in the car with them, leaving a lot to be speculated and anxiously awaited. One thing is concretely certain, however - this is gonna be another long fucking night.

* * * * *

Y/N's ears are perked up with expectation. Not so much in search of a knock or creak that could be considered as loose evidence but in hopes of hearing footsteps. She hates it, how each sound puts her on edge for all the wrong reasons.

She's not waiting on any paranormal entity to make itself known. She's waiting for a rerun of last night. Hoping for it is a better way to put it. Hoping on him and hating on herself.

Ten minutes, that is the window of time they decided on for the solo investigation portion of the night and it's going by too quickly for her liking. Typically the minutes would stretch on in endless anxiety whenever she found herself alone in these supposedly haunted places. And yet tonight, she wishes she could buy a couple extra minutes. Or maybe buy herself a new brain if she were to listen to the more hostile part of herself. The part of her that is so against what went down that it's fucking exhausting.

But the footsteps never come. Not because the other party doesn't want to make the venture just down the hall but because he's convinced she'd forever hate him if he were to give into his temptation.

He's no stranger to hate and anger from her. What he's afraid of is avoidance. Indifference.

So, he stays put. Or tries to.

Out of the ten minutes he was left alone in room 11B, Colby only remained seated for a total of ten seconds. He's been pacing the room like a caged animal, his hand instinctively reaching for the doorknob several times. It felt like fighting with his second nature trying to pry himself free from the urge.

But fortunately - or unfortunately, depending on the perspective - he prevailed. Ten minutes in isolation, almost completely forgetting the quest at hand.

The solo investigations come to an end with a ping from everyone's phones, letting them know the time is up. The sound sends shockwaves down Y/N's spine as she comes to terms with the fact that she's been stood up by both the spirits and living.

Upon exiting the room, she finds herself to be faced with another of the Universe's cruel jokes in timing. She'd much rather have just run into a shadow figure if she's being honest. But a shadow figure he is most definitely not. Not with such piercing blue eyes, anyway.

For a brief second they are left in silence, just staring each other down. But it'd be very unlike them to let the quiet linger for any longer. So, Y/N takes it upon herself to break it, "Glad to see you didn't pussy out and make a run for it this time."

Very on-brand for a Colby-Y/N interaction. Or it would be if he were to retort with the same sort of hostility. He does, but not verbally. Instead, in two long strides, he finds himself in her personal space, giving her no room to dodge him. Not that she would, she talks a big game and stands behind it. Even now, trapped between his body and the wall with only mere inches separating them, there's not even a twinge of hesitation in her stance or gaze.

"What, were you waiting for me or something?" He too is no stranger to pulling on her strings but he'd usually do it from an arm's length away. Not a centimeter away from her face.

The retort she's ready to spit at him dies in her throat when she feels his fingers ghost over her thigh, giving an almost accidental tug on the chain dangling from the belt loops of her shorts.

As soon as the contact was established it has dissipated with Colby taking a step back, "Forgot to give it back."

His words throw her for a momentary lop before her hand comes to clasp the small bump in her pocket. Reaching in, she retrieves the lighter he so smoothly swiped from her yesterday. By the time her brain has processed what just happened, he's already disappeared down the hall, leaving her leaning against the wall on unsteady knees and with a newfound craving to light a cigarette.

"Fuck you, Brock..." she mutters under her breath, darting down the hall in search of the nearest exit so she can give into the urge to drown the breath they briefly shared in nicotine.

* * * * *

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Hair tousled, lipstick smeared, heels in hand - that's Y/N's current state. The worst of it, in her opinion, is that she's sober. The two drinks she downed about three hours ago evaporated from her system long before they could affect her perception of time and space. Throughout the whole night she was all too aware of the pair of eyes that remained trained on her the whole night. And she was even more aware of the sudden disappearance of the heat on the back of her neck when Colby inexplicably disappeared from her viewpoint. From the club entirely.

Curiosity scratched at her brain but she pushed it down, restraining the need to ask Sam and Kat where he'd gone. Why he'd left. Who he'd left with. To be fair, it would've been pretty hard to get answers out of either of them, seeing as how they were too busy making out on the dancefloor.

Or at least that's the last she saw of them before they too disappeared from her immediate vicinity. After a solid fifteen minute scavenger hunt for her friends she called it a night and made her way back to the hotel, discarding her heels halfway along her journey.

The texts she sent Kat remain unanswered but as she ventures down the hall to their shared room she gets the answer to at least one of her questions - Colby's whereabouts.

Whereabouts that place him seated on the carpeted hotel hallway floor, back against the door to her and Kat's shared room. His head is tilted back, his eyes peacefully shut. Or at least they were until her question startled him back into weariness.

"Sam and Kat banished me from the room. Can I crash with you?" He makes no attempt on getting up despite appearing sober himself. He's just exhausted, mentally more so than physically.

She's tempted to be petty. In fact she can feel horns poking through at the top of her head at just the thought of leaving him without a place to stay for the night. It's a minor revenge for seven years of animosity and a chaotic twenty four hours of anxiety and overthinking. But she can simultaneously feel a vastly different sensation heating her body at the thought of having to share a room with him for the night.

Does she believe that ridiculous crap about being the bigger person? Hell no. Is that enough to just leave him out in the hall? Well....

"Only if you keep your hands to yourself." She says, twirling the keycard to the door between her fingers like a taunt.

Little does she know the real taunt for him at the moment is her two inches too short dress. Listen, he's a gentleman, but if she were to take one more step toward him, it would take an ungodly amount of self control to look away.

Instead of letting those unorthodox thoughts render him speechless as they wrack his body, he finds it in himself to sass her right back, "Only if you follow your own rule."

She offers him no verbal reply. All he gets in response is a scoff and eye-roll before she approaches him, offering him a hand to help him get up to his feet.

He's a wise man - he takes something when he's offered it. But he's also insightful, more so than he lets on. And that allows him to give others what they haven't even come to terms with wanting. Which is why he doesn't let go of her hand once he stands up. Instead, he rounds it behind her back, gently locking it in place as his lips come crashing down onto hers.

Despite the rule she put in place, she's all too eager to meet him halfway, returning the same burning passion he's showing her. There's not a fiber of her being that isn't currently on fire, not a single thought that's rational, not a single hesitation that is being heard.

She's overdosing on him and enjoying every second of it.

Colby's free hand tangles in her hair while the other steals the keycard from her secured hand, swipes it and pushes the door open, guiding them blindly into the pitch black room.

They don't need a light anyway. The way their hands roam each other's bodies with such familiarity, it feels like a regular occurrence. Like they give into their hidden desires frequently enough to know the other's body by heart, play it like an instrument. Each touch, each kiss, each softly spoken word feels so...right. Not at all out of place, not at all unusal.

It's been seven years coming, and the waves are finally crashing down over them.

Only the moonlight lazily seeping in through the windows bares witness to this culmination of animosity, anger, hostility - the result of which is awfully gentle. Well, gentle might not be the best term if you were to factor in his hand around her throat and her nails scratching down his back.

Said hand of his loosens its already leisurely hold, travelling up to her jaw then her cheek where it cups her face in a - dare I say - loving gesture.

It stirs up something too warm and fuzzy for Y/N's rough nature. Yet she still embraces it, not without a snide comment though: "Don't get sentimental on me now, Brock."

She's quick to bite back her words and replace them with a moan as he marks her stomach with a not at all modest hickey, "Don't worry, I'll still hate you in the morning."

She laughs. Genuinely laughs. This night is full of surprises, is it not. "You better."

They greet the dawn on the balcony, her back pressed to his chest, his arm loosely wrapped around her waist. And as if we didn't already count plenty of milestones... In seven long years, they'd never smoked together. That changes now.

"You still hate me?" Colby dares to ask through an exhale of smoke. I believe the answer is pretty obvious though, considering she hasn't tried to headbutt him the whole time his chin has been resting on top of her head.

Although he hasn't heard it much, at least not in response to him, her laugh has officially become his favorite sound in the world. "Of course I do."

"Good."

"You?"

"I've never hated you more." He accentuates his response by capturing her lips with his own in a sweet kiss.

* * * * *

"Hey, Kat." Colby speaks up softly, careful not to disturb the still drowsy Kat that's so ready to fall asleep the very second her butt hits the airplane seat.

"Hmm?" She offers in response. It's too early for either her or Sam to form words and Colby respects that.

"Mind switching seats with me?"

Now that wakes her up, the force of the statement's meaning not at all corresponding with the softness of his tone.

"You think you'll be, um, safe? Sitting next to Y/N and all that?" Although inwardly buzzing with excitement at the potential of her years long labor finally baring fruits, she needs to make sure there will be no murders on this flight.

What Kat doesn't catch is the smirk Colby sends Y/N's way over her shoulder. A smirk she returns with the same level of mischief.

"I think I'll manage."

Tagging: @jessy-shine @benbarnesprettygurl @mushycore @smuttiest-smuttt @honey-bees-13 @richardsamboramylove55

#sam and colby #colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fluff #colby brock fic #colby brock imagine #colby brock smut #sam golbach imagine #sam golbach smut #sam golbach x reader

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venus-haze · 11 months ago

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No Other Gods Before Me (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Love is everything. Love is God. Homelander is love. Maybe you are, too.

Note: Gender neutral supe reader, and no descriptors are used. Takes place in season 1 during the Believe Expo. Inspired by Starlight’s comment that she didn’t have a crush on Homelander growing up because “he was like Jesus or something.” I'm sorry it took me so long to write another Homelander fic! Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Extremely unhealthy relationship, power imbalance (unclear as to who, as the reader has unspecified psychic powers), warped elements of Christianity. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

Homelander saw them clear as day. The tears welling up in your eyes as you walked down to the baptismal pool. He barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. For all of his pandering, he was never fond of religious types–especially religious supes. You should know better than to buy into this bullshit, a cheap substitute for simple minds that couldn’t comprehend the modern gods that put the miracles of every religious text to shame.

Still, he held out his gloved hand for you to take, and you did, gingerly, as if his physical presence would be too much to bear.

Homelander had his fair share of admirers, but the reverent gleam in your eyes was nothing short of disarming. His name came from your lips in a soft, pious prayer before you hit the water.

You emerged from the chlorinated depths reborn, staring at him in a moment of blissful awe. “You are love,” you whispered, only loud enough so he could hear. And it stunned him. So much so that he couldn’t protest when you were ushered out of the pool, wet clothes clinging indecently to your skin. You disappeared with your fresh towel, and he resisted the urge to drown the rest of the devout in line to find you.

There was still time. Believe Expo wasn’t quite over yet. Surely you’d still be milling about, in some ridiculous prayer circle or buying one of the cheap trinkets the numerous grifters shilled. He’d never read the Bible, not all of it. Bits and pieces to understand what people were talking about, and a few feel-good verses up his sleeve for speeches and interviews. None of it made him understand what all of the fuss was about, anyway. Why his birthday wasn’t a months-long celebration, a cultural phenomenon. All Vought gave him was a TV special and a cake. It wasn’t the spectacular frenzy that people anticipated all year.

His fists clenched.

He found a volunteer who didn’t look all that busy, and offered a selfie with them before asking a favor. People would do just about anything for him, regardless, but posing his demands as if they were helping him out tended to get things done faster. As soon as the words left his mouth, the volunteer set off to find you. He retreated to his dressing room, waiting impatiently for your arrival.

“Isn’t he wonderful?” you asked, your distant voice growing louder as you approached.

“Homelander’s the best,” the volunteer agreed.

“Don’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“That warmth when you’re in his presence, something divine.”

“Well, he was chosen by God.”

“You don’t get it at all, do you,” you said, disappointment evident in your voice, just on the other side of his dressing room door.

He tried not to appear too eager when you entered, though you were in different clothes than before. Couldn’t expect you to spend the rest of the day walking around in soaking wet clothes, though part of him hoped you would.

“I knew we’d see each other again,” you said, not at all surprised by him summoning you.

He tilted his head, regarding you with suspicion. You didn’t seem like you were fucking with him, but he couldn’t be sure. “In the baptismal pool, you said I was love.”

You nodded. “Love is eternal. Love can conquer anything.”

“Love is God,” he said.

“I prayed to you, because I knew you could hear me,” you confessed quietly. “You’re the one.”

Your sincerity was genuine, the way your heart beat in time for him, tearful eyes glistening with an unprecedented devotion. Without an outstretched, gloved hand, he cupped your cheek, caressing it in his first act of blessing. Anointing you first. A ragged breath emerged from his parted lips. His dove, his lamb, his to guide and nurture the way these abstract figments couldn’t. You would be his Mary Magdalene, his Saint Paul, unceasingly devoted in your worship of him, proselytizing the good word to the masses.

And why shouldn’t they worship him? Look at him with the same admiration and awe that you did? Power in the blood, his blood, to save and damn as he saw fit. After all, he didn’t need to die to offer salvation. No great sacrifices on his part to provide for those who were worthy. The sky had been empty when he explored it, all the way up past the atmosphere, farther than anyone could possibly go until he reached the vast emptiness of space itself and found himself alone. Homelander wasn’t an unknowable god. He walked among the masses, pandered to their sensitivities because he knew just how small and insignificant they were.

He’d read about the more extreme acts of devotion to gods in the past. Self-flagellation. Human sacrifice. Vows of poverty. Pathetic and desperate attempts to appease a supposedly powerful higher being who did nothing to help his people when they cried out for him. But Homelander was there. And just like you’d said, he could hear everything. He required so much less of people yet offered so much more.

“You’re the only one who sees me for what I am,” he murmured.

You nodded gently, your cheek rubbing against his glove.

He leaned in to kiss you, and you reciprocated without hesitation, pressing your lips to his, allowing yourself unprecedented closeness with the divine. Consume and be healed, forgiven, saved. Kissing you felt purposeful, made his heart race and his brain feel fuzzy.

Warmth washed over him, and for a moment the suspicious part of him wondered if this divine haze was related to your powers. Something about being able to get into people’s heads, mess with their emotions. He wasn’t sure. There was no reason for you to be on his radar before the spiritual encounter.

When you whispered his name against his lips like a prayer, he nearly choked. Devout. Unconditional. He held onto you tightly, lips attached to yours in his own act of worship.

Love was everything. Love was God. Homelander was love. Maybe you were, too.

#homelander x reader #the boys x reader #homelander imagine #homelander #homelander the boys #the boys imagine #the boys tv #the boys amazon #the boys

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exhuastedpigeon · 9 months ago

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Buddie Hiatus Fic Rec - month 9 Jan 16 - Feb 15

0-5k

might as well be drunk in love by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Teen | 2.3k Getting little-spooned by his drunk best friend was not on buck's maid-of-honour checklist, but. it's happening

She Said She’d Do It Again by Pansys_goth_gf / @pansysgothgf General | 2.8k Ana Flores runs into the 118 four years after her break up with Eddie. It turns out, a lot can change in four years.

hot cocoa by evcndiaz / @evcndiaz Teen | 3.1k Buck is freaking out about proposing. He gets an assist from Athena, Bobby, and. Well. Eddie himself.

our secret moments in a crowded room by heartbeatdiaz / @loserdiaz Explicit | 3.7k In which a new probie at the station has a crush on Buck, Eddie is… a little bit done with the guy, if he’s being honest. And Buck is having the time of his life.

like a cat in the rain by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 4.6k Sometimes, Buck forgets the lightning strike happened to Eddie, too.

things you shouldn’t say to me by coldbam / @coldbam Mature | 4.7k Eddie comes out, sleeps around, and Buck hears all about it.

5k-10k

finally found what i’ve been looking for by fleetinghearts / @shitouttabuck Explicit | 5k buck's good at basketball, eddie's trying really hard not to commit an act of public indecency about it, and maybe, just maybe, a slightly bloody beachside pick-up game can be the start of something new

i am just a fool, but i have loved you all along by oklahoma / @sunshinediaz Teen | 5.1k Buck asks Eddie on a date. Eddie spirals and makes a list about it. Everything works out in the end.

how to say what you mean by brownbananas (nickel710) Gen | 8.1k In which Eddie becomes a little obsessed with equipment maintenance and has a crisis of sexuality, and the two things are more related than he thought.

gonna make love to you for the rest of our lives by wikiangela / @wikiangela Explicit | 8.7k It's Buck and Eddie's wedding night, they're horny, in love, and obsessed with being husbands.

10k-20k

that green light, i want it by asteriasera / @asteriasera Mature | 11.1k Buck and Eddie hook up after Maddie and Chim’s wedding, then spend an inordinate amount of time not talking about what it means until the universe decides to intervene.

it's gravity after all by Iover_of_mine (I_almost_do) / @lover-of-mine Teen | 11.7k Buck and Eddie get trapped in an elevator. What else can they do besides talk to each other?

and we are homeward bound by glorious_spoon / @glorious-spoon Explicit | 18.1k Buck and Eddie get around to telling the people they love that they're together.

Winter Prayer by Daisies_and_Briars / @cal-daisies-and-briars General | 18.2k When a work conflict prevents Athena from accompanying Bobby to Minnesota for the ten year anniversary of his family dying, Buck and May offer to go instead. Over the course of the trip, they all learn more about each other, and Bobby faces his grief.

20k - 30k

let you set the pace by devirnis / @devirnis Explicit | 23.9k Eddie fucks Buck over a weekend.

30k +

A Minor Delay by rainbow_nerds / @rainbow-nerdss Mature | 43.6k Almost a year after the bridge collapse, a lot has changed. The team are scattered—Bobby and Athena on their Honeymoon, Hen on adoptive parent's leave, and Buck and Eddie... They may still work together, still have movie nights with Chris whenever they can, but things have changed. With Maddie and Chimney's wedding around the corner, Buck tries to make it perfect. And maybe, along the way, he might figure out why everything still feels... wrong.

The Cupid in Bel Air and His Thousand Kisses by Moonrose001 / @liptickyourway Explicit | 53.8k Eddie knew that when he and Christopher moved to LA, there would be a lot more deities than he was used to. What he did not expect was a Cupid that had it out for him, determined for Eddie to fall in love despite Eddie's repeated refusals, denials and threats. But Eddie needs a partner in the field and it seems like the winged weasel is the closest he is getting.

Month 1 (May 15 - June 15) Month 2 (June 16 - July 15) Month 3 (July 16 - August 15) Month 4 (August 16 - September 15) Month 5 (September 16 - October 15) Month 6 (October 16 - November 15) Month 7 (November 16 - December 15) Month 8 (December 16 - January 15)

#buddie #buddie hiatus fic rec #911 #buddie rec list #rec list #TWO MORE SLEEPS UNTIL 911!!!#and one more list to go!

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valyrielwrites · 2 years ago

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As You Are

Oneshot (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Aemond Targaryen / AFAB Reader Word Count: 11,244 Summary: Lady Reader is sent to marry Prince Aemond to forge an alliance between their houses 💕 11k words of pining after one another, and a romantic wedding night that's hard to forget xx Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes

You stood outside the towering doors of the throne room. Your chest was tight with anticipation, eyes blank as you stared at the stone floor and waited for what felt like an eternity, struggling to calm yourself before you heard the roar of the crowd on the other side and it all became real again.

Everyone on this side was quiet - unnervingly so - your own father and mother not quite certain what words of advice or comfort they should have offered you before your whole world changed forever.

"It's time." He said quietly.

If you could have ignored it, you would.

Footsteps and the clink of armour echoed down the hallway as the White Cloaked Kingsguard came into view, accompanying your new husband and his mother Queen Alicent to meet you in the Vestibule so that you may enter the hall as one.

It was a political match, not one born of fondness and familiarity - truth be told. You had never met the young Prince Aemond or any of his family before you had come to the Sept to be wed, and the only words you had exchanged were your wedding vows before you had been whisked away from one another again and brought back to the Red Keep.

He stalked towards you with purpose. His quiet confidence both impressive and so intimidating that even without his Valyrian features or missing eye he would still stand out from a crowd of lesser men. You felt an uneasy flutter in the pit of your stomach when he stopped beside you and tucked his broad arms behind his back with a slight grin.

"My Prince," You curtsey to greet him again, trying to keep your voice calm and even. "Husband."

He observed you a moment, his expression giving nothing away just as it had done in the Sept, but there was an intensity to him now that drew the breath from your lungs and made your eyes widen as he reached down to take your hand and bring it carefully to his lips.

His voice was barely above a whisper, meant for you and you alone, but you felt a heat flush through your body all the same.

"My Wife."

There was nothing indecent about it, as far as everyone else was concerned this was just a man greeting his lady wife for the first time. Yet the way he watched you with his violet eye made you feel as if he could see right through to the bone - so raw and exposed before him that Aemond knew the deepest parts of you that you didn't know yourself. Every inch of your soul laid bare so you could never go unseen again.

"I trust that the journey back to the Red Keep was without issue?" Queen Alicent addressed your parents, her voice snapping your attention back to the task ahead.

Your mother replied with an "Of course, Your Grace.", but you noticed that Aemond had still not averted his gaze.

Once the last of the pleasantries were said and done you took a deep breath and readied yourself, only slightly reassured by the way Aemond linked his arm around yours when you turned to face the door. You forced yourself to smile as you entered the throne room to great applause, but found that your nerves soon turned to awe once you saw the scope of the festivities.

Hundreds of guests gathered around endless wooden tables and benches. Great houses across the kingdom from Winterfell to Oldtown here to celebrate the union, all sat beneath sparkling black silk woven with silver and starlight that draped from the columns and ceiling - dancing in the heat that rose from the lit braziers that lined the great stone walls. The three headed dragon of the Targaryen's also hung on a black banner on the back wall behind the Iron Throne, surrounded by smaller flags and standards carrying your own house sigil as compliment.

It was a reminder to all those present the strength of this ancient family that you have now married into.

"Remember where you are," His voice was low, warning. "Do not give anything away in front of those eager to take advantage."

You did not even notice that you had been squeezing Aemond's arm until you felt his fingers slip over your hand, carefully easing your grip on him once you arrived before King Viserys to kneel at the conqueror's seat. There he was a sickly figure sat amidst the twisted iron and steel, the King's fading presence almost swallowed by the throne as the years had taken their toll, appearing even frailer still when you compared him to your groom - but you kept your face still and paid your respects as expected.

"Such a comely bride," Viserys smiled and waved his frightfully thin hand to beckon you both to rise. "A good match, better than I had hoped for you. Well done, boy!"

He gave no speech as you had expected, his energy perhaps already spent climbing the steps to the throne before the guests had gathered. However, you noticed the way that Aemond tensed at the compliment as if it were an insult.

Better than he had hoped. Those words lingered in your thoughts for quite some time after you took your seat at the table laid out across the dais, where you sat quietly on your husband's blind side, hardly paying attention when The Lord Hand Otto Hightower delivered a toast to your health and wishes for a prosperous marriage. Better than he had hoped. As if his expectations had been so low.

You cast a glance towards Aemond and search for any fault that might stand out to you but find none on the surface. By all accounts - apart from the patch that obscured his eye - he was handsome in an unusual yet striking way, his strong features somehow appeared softer against the glow of candlelight, and his silver hair flowed loose like silk past his the broad shoulders of his black and red velvet doublet. He wore the colours of his house well, far better than his ailing father - who had quietly been led out of the chamber whilst the rest of the guests were distracted by the festivities.

For a long time you found it hard to look away from your new husband, until he caught you at least.

He put down his goblet and turned his head so that he could see you properly. "My Lady, did you want something?"

"Oh, I-" You stopped, desperate for an excuse to be less awkward, and grasped the first thing that came to your head. "I just wondered if you would like to dance, my Prince?"

Aemond's brow furrowed, his arm rested against the hard wood of the table as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger and let out a contemplative hum. "I do not really..." He replied, your eyes catching the way that his throat bobbed as he paused before continuing. "I am not one for dancing, my Lady."

You pressed your lips together and leaned back into your seat, more disappointed than you had expected to be. You hadn't even had a particular desire to take to the dance floor, only using it as an excuse, but the utter disinterest in joining you had left you slightly unsettled.

"I see," You let out a breath, determined not to show it. He had warned you to give nothing away in public and you were not foolish enough to forget so quickly. "So what do you like then? To occupy your time with, I mean."

He was quiet a moment longer, the silence between you interrupted only by a snicker from the nearby Prince Aegon to remind you that you were not truly alone.

"I read." He finally said and averted his gaze from you, taking another long pause before elaborating, as if he did not know quite how to talk about himself without being pushed. "I spend a great amount of time in our library."

You forced a smile to cover the fact that on the inside you were wincing, wondering why trying to get to know your new husband was akin to pulling teeth, and cast a glance towards his older brother - sat next to Aemond on the side of his good eye - who had been knocking back wine as if it was water.

You noticed the mercurial smugness etched onto his face as he looked between the pair of you, slurping as he downed the rest of his goblet and placed it back down on the table with a satisfying clunk.

He smirked and gave you a pointed look as if to say watch this.

"Surely your lovely wife does not want to hear about dusty old books." He said a little too loudly and let out a shrill laugh.

For a second you did not understand the purpose of such a flippant remark, but then you saw the way that Aemond's jaw clenched at the sound of Aegon's incessant giggling, and the considered cold stare that fell across his face at the mention of you. Perhaps it was just the stress of the day, or the natural friction between siblings that every family shared, but it did not take you long to realise that there was a deeper tension between the two.

"I do not mind," You tried to conciliate, turning to Aemond and continued. "Do you have a fav-"

"I mean," Aegon cut you off, "You could be enjoying the finer things in life! Wine, women... more wine and women?" He leaned back in his seat as if to ponder the thought. "You really ought to try to have more fun, dear brother!"

Aemond flexed his hand, tapping his fingers against the table as he inhaled deeply and took a moment to decide whether biting the obvious bait would be worth it.

"Should I?" An amused hum played across his lips. "Although, I confess that I find my current endeavours to be a much better use of my time than indulging in your endless hedonism and depravity."

"You-" Aegon began to reply, but it was you that interrupted the flow of conversation this time - the sound of your laughter cutting through the tension to draw their attention back to you.

Aemond's eye met yours the moment you went to cover your mouth, trying to scrape back some modicum of politeness in front of royalty, but instead of the disapproval you had expected you found a warmth that had not been there prior. You had enjoyed his remark. The realisation clear upon his face as the corner of his mouth curled into a slight smile, a small victory shining in his violet eye as he watched and waited for more.

"Do you agree, My Lady?"

"I do," You replied, blinking slowly as you tried and failed to fight the urge to smile back at him. "Aside from reading, are there any other pursuits that you enjoy?"

This time he did not hesitate to reply, the guarded wall he kept up appeared to shrink a little now that he was more sure of you.

"I am also quite skilled with a sword. I often train in the yard with Ser Criston."

"Yet you do not dance?"

You tilted your head to the side, eyes fixed to his as you felt yourself drawn in closer and more curious than before. At first you had asked because you thought you ought to, now you asked because you wanted it.

Aemond shifted in his seat and let out a slow breath, the tightness in his posture relaxing when he gave you his reply:

"Fighting and dancing are quite different."

"I disagree," You smile and shake your head. "'tis all in the footwork is it not? Battle has a rhythm of its own. What good is a swordsman that lacks grounding or the ability to move? To weave through a crowd and pick out a partner to face off against?"

"You paint quite the picture." That slight smile had not left his face.

"Why not try it and find out?" You challenged him a little, raising a brow as you took a sip of wine.

Aemond did not refuse immediately like he had the last time. His gaze shifted low as he considered, then looked back to you again, then to the crowd that stood in the centre of the hall socialising where the dancing would have taken place.

"... You're very insistent."

It wasn't a no.

"If you don't want to embarrass yourself at your own wedding, I am happy to take your place," Aegon reminded you of his presence yet again, this time clasping his brother's broad shoulder and giving it a playful squeeze as he leaned in to whisper the rest, "... Perhaps in your other duties as well."

Although it was hushed you still heard the scandalous remark, scoffing in disgust a few seconds after you allowed it to sink in what he meant by 'other duties' - and it seemed that your husband also found it exceedingly distasteful.

"You have had enough to drink." Aemond did not shrug Aegon off, but gave him a warning glare that silently screamed a command to remove his hand. Aegon, ever the fool, did not heed it and continued.

"I am still awake and capable, so have not!" Aegon countered, lifting his goblet above his head in a mock toast. "What do you say, Lady Reader?"

But before you could answer, Aemond spoke.

"You have your own wife to occupy yourself with," He grasped Aegon's fingers and peeled them off his doublet, his voice dropping lower and more threatening. "Surely you do not need mine."

Mine.

You could feel the way your heart leapt at that, how strange you felt for enjoying it, how embarrassed you were that you wanted to hear him say it again and again.

The way he spoke the word was so different to how it had sounded in the Sept as you said your vows - that your were his and he was yours - not gentle or disinterested as it had once been but guarded, almost domineering, as if this was the only way he could make his brother realise that one more insult against you would not be tolerated.

"I may put my hands on our sister whenever I like," Aegon huffed, and you truly felt sorry for Princess Helaena. "To brush up against Lady Reader is such a rare opportunity."

Before you could even think to say something, the screech of Aemond's chair scraping against the stone floor rang out across the hall, drawing everyone's attention to the dais as he slammed his goblet down and slowly stood to face his brother. Sound after sound diminished - first the music, then the raucous laughter from the benches, then the hushed whispers as all the Lords and Ladies gathered on the floor - until an expectant silence blanketed the entire throne room.

Even Aegon was quiet as he cautiously tilted his head up to meet Aemond's eye, perhaps realising that he really had taken things too far.

Your husband did not move for a moment, flexing his jaw and inhaling before he looked away and remembered where he was. His earlier warning to you to be careful what you showed in public temporarily forgotten as concerned onlookers and gossiping courtiers eagerly awaited to see the conflict boil over.

For a moment you thought it might, but Aemond would not give them the satisfaction.

"Come," He said loud enough for everyone to hear, holding his hand out to you with an impassive face. "Let us join our guests on the floor."

He would give them something else entirely.

Your eyes darted between him and Aegon, then back to the rest of the people gathered in the hall, as you slowly brought your hand up to his.

There was still so much tension in his posture as he wove his fingers between yours but he still managed to move with an unexpected fluidity and grace, guiding you away from the table with his other hand ghosting the small of your back.

"You do not have to -" You began to whisper.

Aemond brought his mouth close to your ear, "Yes, I do."

You felt yourself almost stumble as your foot found the step, the tickle of his breath against your neck distracting your focus, a warm flush pooling in the pit of your stomach at the way he brought his hand to your waist to steady you.

"I'm sorry." You laughed nervously.

He said nothing, did not move his hand as you walked to the centre of the room together, did not heed the whispers or the way that people gawked at he close he was to you - this was the only spectacle he would allow. It was a performance to hide the fissures in his house before others could widen those cracks.

You stood side by side and watched as Aemond waved a hand toward the bards and minstrels that had stopped playing, giving them the go ahead to start again as the rest of the floor cleared of guests to accommodate their Prince. Your Prince.

The rhythm began quietly, each stroke of the drum skin building the anticipation as the two of you stepped away in opposite directions, turning to face each other and take it all in as the sound of long string notes eased you into the introduction. You bowed your head and lifted your arm, tilting your neck ever so slightly as you watched him match your movement and take a diagonal step towards you like a knight circling his equal on the field.

He had taken your words to heart then, 'battle has a rhythm of its own', and he was determined to test it for himself.

You let out a deep breath as he dipped out of view to appear on your other side, snatching your hand back as his fingers grazed yours, a teasing grin etched upon your face as you looked him straight in the eye.

You heard the titter of the crowd, amused on-lookers curious to see what he would do next, but Aemond just stepped back - waiting, watching, his gaze fixed on you - arm outstretched, not in invitation but as if he held a sword.

As if it were a challenge.

You took a step forward and raised your own, twisting your wrist as if you were twirling a thin blade above your head before you met him and crossed - lunging for him only to be sidestepped, his silver hair grazing you as he weaved past to the sound of scattered applause.

"I did not ask at the table," He finally spoke as you turned to face him and tapped your foot, "I apologise."

"For what?" You replied and followed his lead, circling each other with your arms held in a matching guarding stance.

"For not inquiring after your interests when we discussed mine. I take it you like this?"

You smiled. "Yes."

You both paced around each other so that you were back-to-back, but you would have given anything to continue looking at his face whilst you spoke. There was something so intoxicating about the way he looked at you, with a gentle intensity that made him feel as if he was the only person in the whole room that could see you.

"I also like to read," You continued, looking over your shoulder to find him doing the same. "... And I enjoy riding."

An amused hum escaped his lips, "Have you ever ridden a dragon?"

You were aware that he already knew what your answer would be. You were not a Targaryen, and you had never seen one of their dragons in the flesh, but you humoured him regardless.

"I have not."

He turned behind you and leaned in to whisper, his one hand coming to rest against your hip whilst the other stroked along your arm until your fingers met again. He was touching you more than he ought to in public, exploring, pushing to see what he could get away with.

"It is not quite the same as a horse."

You let out a breathy laugh, "Is it not terrifying?" you asked and wrapped your hand around his as he raised it above your head.

"Extremely." Your affections danced as he twirled you, "Enough to make one's heart race. There is nothing as thrilling in this world - to be able to soar through the skies, to touch the clouds and chase storms... Men spend their entire lives wishing for what Vhagar and I can do in an afternoon."

He was much more talkative now that it was only you in earshot, and you realised that perhaps that initial reservedness had only been because of Aegon - that he had known that everything he said would be derided or because he did not want to be embarrassed by his older brother's behaviour.

This was a man of so many unspoken words, so complex and new behind the veneer, someone that you would study endlessly and never tire of.

"Would you take me?" You asked, trying to imagine the way his arms would wrap around you on that dragon, as the wind whipped through your hair and the cities seemed to shrink into insignificance below.

"If you want me to." He stopped and smiled. "If she will let you."

You both travelled in time to the music, spinning away from him as you moved to parry and riposte his next attacking movement, and laughed when you heard gasps and claps from the crowd.

Aemond became relentless then, darting towards you to strike again as you both orbited the floor - defending as you fled from him with a wicked grin and the tap of your shoes against the stone. You could feel your blood coursing through your veins, steady breaths quickening as you focused every ounce of physicality on matching him, the push and pull of your dance quickened with the beat until you finally met the moment of conclusion.

Aemond made a disarming gesture, knocking your arm back in a sweeping motion as he closed the distance between you, clutching your waist as he hoisted you into the air, his strong thigh resting beneath your leg, to place you back down half a heartbeat later as the final swell of the song came to its end.

"I thought you said that you did not dance." You breathed, your chest heaving as you tilted your head up.

A rapturous applause filled the room as you both stood there panting, but the cheering and whistles were not enough to pull your attention away from each other as you held his longing gaze. The striking violet of his eye trailed down your face for a moment, watching the way your lips turned up as if he was considering something he should not, as his hand caressed the outline of your dress one last time before he dropped his grip on you and moved away.

"I don't."

There was a smug smile on his face as he stepped off the dance floor, leaving you behind as the rest of the guests returned to their spaces when the next song began, heading in the direction of Otto Hightower who had been watching from the sidelines. You decided not to follow, to give him some space or room to breathe - seven hells you knew that you needed it - and made your way back into the circle of Ladies gathered on the dance floor that were ready to perform a much simpler carole.

Out of the corner of your eye you could still see Prince Aegon sat atop the dais, the mock concern he had worn earlier long gone from his drawn face, watching you with a self-satisfied smile as he winked and mouthed the words 'you're welcome' just as you began to move again.

It all suddenly clicked - why Aegon had been so persistent in spite of the clear animosity he was met with. He had goaded Aemond into dancing with you, knew that poking him would garner that response, and had wanted you to see it.

You felt slight gratitude and disgust all at once, thankful for the favour but displeased with the method, and wondered if he had not meant the things that he said at the table. Had he simply said those words to get what he wanted or was there a kernel of truth to them?

Based on Aemond's reaction though, you doubted his intentions were all that noble.

The next song came to an end soon enough and in the pause between pieces you looked around the room for your husband, only to find that you had lost him in the crowd - spirited away with no trace or hint to where he may have gone.

That soft longing surprised you, the way you felt as if he had taken a part of you with him when he was gone, the way you no longer felt quite whole, how quickly you had become so drawn to him. Your Mother had warned you that love could take time or might never come at all, that perhaps even warming to one another might be difficult in an arranged match - but with Aemond it already felt like there was something there.

In those brief touches and stolen glances you found a foundation, the potential for a good life together, for more affection than what most people had.

You needed a break from the festivities, some air to clear your head so that you could manage your expectations, stepping off the dance floor to find a balcony or window to refresh your whirring mind. You only made it halfway toward the steps to the gallery before you heard someone call your name, the last person you wanted to speak to at that moment, Aegon swayed toward you as if in a stupor accompanied by the youngest brother Daeron who you had not had the pleasure of meeting yet.

"Going so soon?" His tongue tripped over the words, slurring his speech. "Have I missed my chance to ask you to dance?"

He was drunk, that much was clear, but so were many of the guests, and Aemond was not there this time to act as a buffer.

"Apologies, My Prince. I fear that I have worn myself out." You gave him a watery smile. "Perhaps there is another that would gladly take my place."

Daeron nodded his head at you and went to take his brother by the arm. "Come, let us leave our new sister alone and find our fun elsewhere." He offered a reprieve, albeit brief. You watched as Aegon wiggled his arm away and shook his head.

"No no - if the Lady is tired we should see her to bed!" He giggled.

"Aegon." Daeron warned.

Your heart dropped when the eldest prince took another step toward you, arms wide with enthusiasm, the thought of him touching you or encouraging others to do so enough to make your stomach churn.

"But it is tradition! Show some respect."

Sure enough it was, although you wanted no part in it.

You had seen it happen at your cousin's wedding to one of the Mallister boys, the way she sobbed and begged the men to leave her dress untouched as they hoisted her into the air to carry her to their wedding bed, the way she had been so quiet and withdrawn the morning after. You had warned your parents that you would not tolerate such treatment, although deep down you knew it wasn't something that she had wanted either.

Women in Westeros seldom had the power to choose their own fate but your Father promised you that much at least - if you did your duty and married Prince Aemond without complaint, they would make sure that you were not mistreated or humiliated in front of the court - but when you looked around for him amidst the crowd, you did not see that familiar face looking out for you with concern.

"Mother and Aemond will not like it." Daeron kept his voice measured, but he cast a cautious glance at you - as if to tell you to flee the first chance you got. "Let us go find him and leave the Lady in peace."

"Where is our brother? 'Tis unlike him to hide from his duty," Aegon stumbled forward, the wine in his cup sloshing onto the floor. "Come Daeron! Pick her up and help her with her clothes, she will not be needing them much longer."

"Aegon!" Daeron hissed.

"It's just a bit of fun!"

You forced a smile and used every ounce of your composure to stop yourself from shaking, not in fear - but anger. "I'm sure my Lord Father will not find it as amusing," You said, but your words were laced with bile and an implicit threat. "And I imagine that the Queen will not be best pleased either."

You hated this. You hated the fact that you had to hide behind other people's positions, to try to balance the scales enough that he would leave you be, hated that you couldn't reel your hand back and slap him across the face without the fear that it would be the last time you had a hand.

Don't let him touch me. You silently begged The Mother, The Maiden, and any of The Seven that might have cared to keep you safe - although they had never answered your prayers before. Let this be another one of his sick jokes that goes no further.

"You speak too much sense." Aegon rolled his eyes at you, "It's boring."

"My Prince I would really rather not -"

"I have done you a favour tonight by making sure that you had your way with my brother," He laughed, and brought his hand down onto your shoulder, squeezing hard as if to reassure you although it did anything but. "All I want is some entertainment of my OW-"

Aegon let out a pitiful whine as a firm hand suddenly appeared from behind you to clamp around his wrist and twist his grip away, his face scrunched in discomfort when his attention left you in favour of whoever dared interrupt.

"What are you doing?!"

You felt Aemond against your back, his domineering presence offering an unmistakable sense of relief when he placed his spare hand at your waist so that he could pull you away from his brother to put some space between you. He took a step forward, his gaze formidably cold and jaw tight with a quiet fury, digging his fingers into Aegon's wrist without a care for the pain it caused him.

"That is enough. You have had your fun."

"Don't be such a twat," Aegon snatched his arm back and staggered a bit off balance, either from shock or too much wine, and laughed as if to shrug the whole thing off. "If we carry her off to your bed now she can't run away scared when she sees... Look, I'm doing all this for your benefit so just -"

"Quiet." His voice was calm - in the same deceptive way that the air feels before a storm begins to lash - stood so still as the atmosphere around him shifted into something heavy, thick, and unyielding. "You can continue to mock and belittle me all you like brother - you can even lie to yourself and dress it up as 'helping' if that helps to ease that depraved conscience of yours. I allowed you to get away with it earlier this evening for the sake of appearances, but you will not humiliate her to get at me again. Do I make myself clear?"

Aegon went quiet, his whole front beginning to crumble as the smarmy smile was wiped clean off his face, giving way to something more broken and unsure than you had ever seen a man wear before in your life.

"I'm fine." You lied, hoping to diffuse some of the tension between them before it could turn into something uglier.

"No you're not." Daeron finally spoke again. "I should've done more to stop him."

And with that Aegon finally decided he had endured enough. Huffing as he shoved his cup into the hands of a passing servant, he skulked away like a miserable fool that had failed to gain the approval of his patrons rather than the prince that he was.

"Take her to the back of the hall. I shall meet you by the door." Aemond commanded, handing you over to his younger brother as he watched the older push past and almost knock Lord Beesbury over.

"Where are you going?" You asked.

"To ensure he doesn't cause any more trouble." He sighed. "I will be back for you, I swear it."

"I shall go after him," Daeron answered. "You two should enjoy your own wedding."

He did not wait for Aemond's reply, instead moving carefully through the crowd in pursuit of his errant brother, walking slow enough that it did not draw further attention. You were grateful for that at least, that none of the guests had noticed Aegon's behaviour and encouraged him, and that you were not a source of gossip and scandal on your first day at court.

"He is a -" Aemond began to mutter until he caught the way you were watching him again.

"A what?"

He paused to consider, a million different insults to describe Aegon all springing to mind as he lifted his arm for you to take. "... A scoundrel."

"Something tells me that was not the first word that came to mind."

You raised a brow and walked with him across the room, weaving your arm around his as if it were the most natural thing in the world now, his other hand coming to rest against the back of yours.

"The first word is not decent for a Lady to hear." He smirked.

"I do not mind suffering some indecency if it means you feel able to confide in me." You teased, although you meant what you said.

He chuckled at that, albeit brief, but it felt good to hear him laugh - to momentarily ease the tension that seemed to cling to his very soul before it could dig its claws in any deeper.

"I would like that." He quietly admitted, taking you back to your seats at the table atop the dais.

The rest of those that had been sat with you earlier had already vacated their positions, finally leaving the two of you utterly alone, but you both still pulled your chairs closer so that it was easier to speak more discreetly.

"I would too." You nudged him a little.

"I have to been seen to be publicly supportive, even if I remain privately disgruntled by his behaviour. Aegon can taunt and mock all he likes behind closed doors but out in the world we must defend our own - he went too far tonight, embarrassed himself and offended you before I have even had the chance to..." His voice trailed off as if he wasn't quite sure how to continue, no matter how desperately you wanted him to.

"The chance to do what?"

"To know you," he said and it felt as if your heart skipped a beat. "To have a fondness for you, perhaps."

His words danced around the obvious conclusion, that even though your match was a planned one, there was space for something much deeper to take root and flourish between you. He wanted to love you, wanted you to love him, the truth of it was plain as day across his calm expression as you reached for his hand and wove your fingers with his.

You said nothing, not really needing to, instead running your thumb in circles against the back of his hand as you watched his face soften ever so slightly.

"I shall speak with him again in the morning once he is sober," Aemond sighed and continued. "You need not pay him any attention."

"It is difficult not to when one day he may be King." You replied with a half-hearted smile.

"When I cloaked you in the Sept, I brought you under my protection. I will not allow him to bother you as he would a common -" He stopped and let out a hum instead, as if he had caught himself getting wound up again and wanted to moderate his tone. "I am your husband now. You have my name, my honour, my life - and, if necessary, my dragon to remind anyone foolish enough to forget that I am yours and you are mine."

"My Prince..."

Your heart fluttered at the way he leaned into your space, how he was almost as close as he had been in the Sept when he sealed your vows with a kiss - it had been feather-light, curious even, so unlike the intensity you had come to know in the hours since.

"Is that too much? You and I are strangers still, I know." He asked.

You wanted to scream, to tell him that no it wasn't too much - it wasn't enough. You wanted the fire that flickered beneath the surface, yearned for it to set your heart alight as he kissed you properly this time, but you were still in public - still under the ever watchful eye of the nobility, of your families.

So you told him, "We do not have to be." and gave him the confirmation that he needed.

He watched for the way you inched forward, just a little, a hopeful smile on your face as your eyes met his and you felt that lingering uncertainty just melt away.

"The hour is late." He hummed.

"It is."

Aemond gave you another slightly nervous smile out of the corner of his mouth as he looked down at your hand, still stroking against his, and gave you a gentle squeeze. "Perhaps we should go to bed?"

"To bed or..." you paused, waiting until he looked up at you again. "To bed?"

"I would not force it upon you." He sat a little more upright as he spoke, to give you space to consider.

But you already knew your answer.

"You would not need to."

For the first time in your life you were allowed to want something so carnal, to entangle yourself so irrevocably in another person's body and soul, but even as a married woman it still felt shameful to admit. You could feel a heat rise beneath your cheeks as your heart hammered in your chest, your nerves alight with such a strange sense of anticipation - the fear and elation that came from the acknowledging the truth of it all.

"Say something..." You let out a nervous laugh and whispered, "Please?"

Aemond let out a deep breath that you had not noticed he had been holding, drumming the fingers of his other hand against the table, but never taking his eye off you.

"Shall I have them announce our departure, or shall we just quietly disappear?"

He watched you with a hesitant look in his eye, and it was all you could to stare back and lose yourself in that longing gaze, heart murmuring at the way it slowly trailed down your face to meet your lips and linger there a second too long.

"Yes..." You breathed.

Aemond let out a quiet laugh, "To what?"

You smiled and shook your head to yourself, willing your wits to return before you made yourself look even more of a fool. "To disappear together," your voice was a low whisper, "It may be our duty, but that does not mean that we cannot enjoy it on our own terms."

He was quiet after that, considered, the expression he wore seemed almost as if he was slightly fascinated at how easy and simple it actually ought to be - that this moment did not have to be one you both dreaded or endured for the sake of what was expected, that you could enjoy it as much as he might.

You allowed your hand to slip from his grasp, fingers carefully stroking along his skin when you withdrew and went to stand on shaky legs, taking the initiative this time as you beckoned him toward a point of no return.

Come. Come with me and I shall give you everything.

Aemond swallowed before he spoke again, not in a way that made him seem nervous or unsure, but how a warrior prepares for a battle he knows he can win - as if to centre himself, to allow almost a divine certainty to envelop his very being and reforge him into something anew. "Through the door at the back of the hall."

He waited for you to leave first, allowing some distance between you before he also got up from his seat and followed in a way that would not draw attention to your departure, and nodded his head toward Ser Criston Cole once you were over the threshold.

You were equal parts thrilled and terrified when you left the festivities behind, the sound of the crowd growing fainter with every nervous step.

"Where now?" You turned and asked Aemond as he caught up to you, his fingers grazing your sleeve as you both made your way down a long corridor that led out to an open courtyard.

He nodded his head in the direction of an enormous building that was hidden behind a thick interior wall. "No one shall bother us here, not even my brother."

You both continued on to Maegor's Holdfast - the famed castle within the castle where the King and his immediate Targaryen family resided - strolling slowly until members of the Kingsguard came into view at the end of the drawbridge.

"Raise the bridge after we have passed," Aemond commanded. "Lower it for none but my Mother or Sister when they retire for the night."

"My Prince, we were not expecting you!" A tall, bearded brown haired man replied. "Will you stay long? I understood that there are rooms prepared for you and your bride back in the Red Keep."

"We do not want any further interruptions, Ser Arryk." He replied, and the Knight nodded in understanding. It was clear enough that names did not need to be said for them to know your husband referred to Aegon. "Please ensure that we are not disturbed."

Aemond took your hand as you walked along the bridge, quietly warning you to not look down at the dry moat below to see the menacing spikes that jutted up from the stone, and guided you inside toward a twisting stone staircase that led to his personal apartments.

You held your breath as you stepped into the first room, expecting Aemond to be bolder in private and carry you straight off to bed, but you were surprised when he lingered at the door - his hand hovering above the wrought iron bolt as if he was waiting for your approval.

"Thank you." You felt flushed.

"Take your time." He replied and locked the door.

He watched as you took another step forward, inspecting your surroundings as you made your way around the room - noting the living space decorated in green and gold, the bath and dressing room tucked off to the side, and the large four-poster bed that sat atop a platform at the head of the room.

"As Ser Arryk said, there have been rooms prepared for us elsewhere. If you don't like it here -"

"I do." You turned back to him and smiled. "It is yours, My Prince."

"Aemond," He corrected, but there was a feverish look in his eye as he slowly came toward you. "There is no need for titles when we are alone. Call me by my name."

A charged silence hung in their air whilst he waited for your answer, wanting to hear his name on your lips, but there was an anxious flutter that rose in your chest and reminded you that this was all real again - that the touches, the dance, the desire that you felt - it had not been a dream.

"Have you changed your mind?" He asked when you took too long to reply.

"No," You laughed and then softened your voice."I still want to... I just-"

He whispered, "I'm sorry." and for the first time that evening you saw him doubt himself.

He had latched onto that moment of hesitation, as if he had expected it to come and was prepared, his whole body tensing as he halted his progress toward you. With one glance you could see it all - the questioning if what his brother had said was true, that you would panic and flee at the first opportunity, that you would realise that your longing was misplaced once you truly saw him as he was.

"Don't be," You reassured and took a step closer. "It's silly, really."

"Then what is it?" He asked so quietly, but his thoughts were betrayed across his face. She is afraid of me. "Have I... done something?"

And just like that it all clicked into place.

The passing remarks and teasing done by Aegon, the back handed compliment that King Viserys had given him - Better than he had hoped - this evening had been death by a thousand cuts for your husband. Despite his earlier confidence he had still mistaken your nerves for regret, for a type of aversion or rejection that was all too familiar to him.

"You have done nothing to displease me Aemond. Quite the contrary, in fact," You spoke candidly, watching carefully, to see if there was something in your expression that could break through the wall that he was ready to build back up again. "It has just been a long day for the both of us."

It broke your heart a little to see that he thought the worst of himself, so you sighed and moved in closer, rested your hand on his upper arm and gently stroked your thumb against the fabric.

He did not flinch from your touch, but did not relax either. So you continued, "I meant what I said back in the Hall, but I -" you paused to let out a breath. "This is new, I have never done this before... I do not know if you have."

Aemond's brow softened at that, at the worry in your eyes. it was not a fear of him, but of the unfamiliar territory that you had to navigate. He recognised it now - as he had learned the day he claimed Vhagar - that talking and dreaming was one thing, but to take that leap and face it was another entirely.

"It was a long time ago." He admitted.

"Did you love her?"

"No," He said and you believed it. There was no nostalgia or sentimentality in his face or tone, his expression shifting into something that looked almost ashamed as he looked away from your gaze. "It was not... something that I would do again if I had the choice. Let us leave it at that."

There was a story behind that look, perhaps one that you might hear one day, something that had left an indelible mark upon him that he wasn't quite sure how to erase - if it even could be. Perhaps that was why he had been so upset at Aegon's interference, why he had made sure that nobody could take that decision from you too.

"Does it bother you?" He looked up again.

You shook your head, "No."

Aemond eased a little, allowing his shoulders to drop as he slowly brought his hand up and brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. He lingered a moment when you didn't try to pull away, humming and stroking his thumb across the curve of your cheek, with a look in his eye that told you he couldn't quite believe that you were real.

"____." Your name was a whisper on his lips as he breathed his mother tongue, "Gevie iksā..."

"What does that mean?" You asked.

He felt warm as he leaned in, tilting his head down to rest against your own, inching ever closer as he released a shaky breath and sighed, "You are beautiful." and surrendered himself to it.

Aemond had wanted this since the moment he set his sight on you, and now that he knew that you were not just humouring him - that you truly desired it too - he relinquished any persisting guilt or dishonour he felt when you finally met his kiss.

It was slow at first, your lips pressed softly against his for the briefest of moments, testing before giving yourself over completely. You pulled back a little to see him staring, his breath as uneven as yours as he took a moment to gather himself.

"Aemond..." You pleaded, throat tight with a desperate want.

You felt his fingers at the laces on the front of your gown, gently tugging at the bow and sliding the silk through the eyelets one by one in such an unhurried manner, his gaze almost searing through you as he watched for your disapproval - although it never came - even as your mouth went dry at the way that you bodice fell open to expose the fine linen shift your wore underneath.

His hands carefully grazed the bare skin of your décolletage as he helped to shrug off the top layer of your clothing. It was featherlight, exploratory, curious... Yet you burned for it, were hyper aware of the hitch in your breath and the flutter in the pit of your stomach at the sensation of being touched in a way that you never had before.

You let out a nervous laugh when his hands slid down along the outline of your waist, coming to stop right at the top of your skirts. "I'll move." You whispered, and reluctantly tore your gaze from him as you faced away and granted him access to the lace at the back.

It had taken two servants to dress you in your wedding gown that morning but Aemond seemed more than capable of undressing you all on his own, making quick work of the knot and allowing the pale overskirt and petticoats to fall unceremoniously to the floor. Just like on the dancefloor, you could feel the tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck as he leaned in and pressed a kiss against the tip of your spine, eliciting a surprised gasp from you when you suddenly felt a flutter somewhere else.

Before he had the chance to move or do it again, you whirled and took a small step back to give yourself a moment to breathe. The look of concern he gave lasted for only a moment once he saw the shocked smile on your face, and then his eye began to trail down to take in the silhouette of your body through the thin linen shift you still wore.

"Your turn." You swallowed.

Aemond did not move.

"Would you like to?" He met your gaze again. "Or shall I undress myself?"

"I... I can do it."

You moved in close again and slid your hands up the broad chest of his doublet until you reached the buckle right below the neckline, the cool metal of it fashioned into ornate silver dragons that wove around themselves in an endless ouroboros.

The first one came undone with a satisfying click, all the tension in the fabric suddenly releasing to expose the smooth skin beneath his collar, so you brushed your finger along the outline and took your time with the rest.

Although you had the rest of your lives to explore one another - to touch, to feel, to know in ways that no other could - never again would you be able to experience this first night. So you ignored that instinct for urgency that stirred deep within the depths of your soul in favour of savouring that anticipation, as if it were just as much a part of the final act itself.

Aemond slowly shrugged off his doublet once the last buckle was finally opened, stopping only when you laid your one hand flat against his chest to feel the beat of his heart through his shirt, whilst the other carefully stroked the curve of the muscles on his arms.

Up and up your fingers trailed - from his biceps to his shoulder, along the outline of his neck where it connected to his angular jaw, against his cheek... against his scar. The cut was clean, done with a sharp blade but expertly treated by the Maester no doubt, and sat stark against the paleness of his smooth skin.

Curiosity possessed you the moment your touch met the leather patch that obscured the rest from view, but that wonder was cut short when you saw the way Aemond flinched - his eye wide as if he was almost as shocked as you when you pulled your hand back and offered profuse apologies.

"I thought... I am so sorry, if you don't want to -"

"No," He quickly took your hand again. "No... I was just not expecting you to want to look. I do not wish to scare you."

"You do not scare me Aemond," You spoke quietly, "I wish to see all of you, just as you see all of me."

He smiled slightly, his face softening as his hand slid toward the sleeve of your shift. "Not quite all of you." It was a joke to ease the tension, to deflect from the awkwardness he felt, but the fact that he could find humour in it at all reassured you enough to try again.

"Then perhaps I should not hide." You let out a little laugh and reached for the hemline, pulling it up past your knees to expose the flesh of your thighs - slowly continuing up over your hips, then your breasts, until finally it was over your head and you stood almost bare before him.

Aemond moved back as he shifted the weight from one leg to the other in order to accommodate the growing stiffness in trousers, taking in the sight of you as you took another step closer to him.

"You do not have to show me if you are not ready." You told him, but Aemond shook his head and smiled.

He said nothing as he untucked his shirt and then reached for the back of its neckline, tugging it up past his shoulders and discarding it atop the growing pile of clothes on the carpet, then brushed his long silver hair out of the way, as your eyes wandered down to admire the way his muscles curved down toward his hips and more.

Then, to your surprise, his hand reached for the strap that kept the patch in place - hovering for a moment before he took one last breath and lifted it away.

It was such a devastating loss when you thought of how beautiful his surviving eye was, what he might look like had that misfortune not stolen that from him - yet what he had replaced it with was oddly captivating in a way. Candlelight danced along the surface of the sapphire that lay in the socket where his eye had once been, and you found it so hard not to stare.

"Should I put it back on?" He asked.

You had expected to feel pity when you saw it, but all you could conjure was awe - this was a man that had faced such hardship in spite of the status he had, knew what it was to endure.

So you took his hand in yours and brought it to your breast, allowing him to feel the warmth of you as his fingers gently squeezed and cupped your flesh, willing him to continue as you wove your fingers through his hair to rest at the base of his neck.

"No," you felt a tightness in your chest as you replied, "I want you as you are, Aemond."

He answered your desire without hesitation, his mouth crashing into yours to deepen his hold on you - drinking in the relieved moan that escaped your lips as your entire world narrowed to nothing more than his touch.

He was unrestrained, focused, more sure than he had been in the Sept that morning - that first kiss you shared had been for the benefit of everyone else, but this time you were both utterly alone. Aemond poured himself into it with every brush of his tongue, every caress, every ounce of affection that he had to give - it was yours. He was yours - and it sent your heart racing.

His strong arms wound around you and slid down your back until they came to rest against the curve of your ass, gently groping before he lifted you up so that he could carry you at the waist. He grunted slightly at the effort when he felt your legs eagerly wrap around him, but he did not falter as he made his way toward the bed, making sure to put you down carefully as you sank into the mattress under his kiss.

You moaned again when you felt his tongue run across your lower lip, pushing into your mouth to taste you as he positioned himself between your legs and rocked forward to show you just how aroused he was beneath the tightening fabric of his trousers.

"Take them off..." You pleaded, breath hot and unsteady as your husband pulled away.

Aemond watched the way your chest heaved as he shifted so that he was kneeling upright, but just as his hands reached for his belt he stopped, his eyes drifting down between your legs and lingered a second longer than you were brave enough to allow - yet before you could even think about shying away, Aemond's hands had already found you.

He ran slow circles around your clit, although not quite close enough to where he needed to be, testing and teasing for what you might like, observing the way your body responded to his delicate touch.

"How is this?" He wondered aloud, noting your subdued reaction.

"It is strange to have someone else..." You trailed off, slightly embarrassed.

Nobody had ever seen you so exposed before, let alone indulged in you so freely, and although you had a lifetime of being told that it was sinful and wrong to crave something so carnal beyond what was expected from your marital duties - there was a certain thrill to being desired so endlessly.

"Show me?" Aemond's hands slowed as he asked, waiting as you reached down to guide his fingers to the exact point that would be your undoing.

Your head rolled back with a stifled moan as your hands shot up to cover your own mouth, the sensation almost surreal as he stroked a steady rhythm against you and you ground your hips up to meet it. Finally content that you were enjoying his touch, Aemond leant forward to press his lips to yours again - slowly moving lower to nip at the flushed skin at the base of your neck, as he gathered your arousal and pressed a single finger inside.

"Seven Hells..." You hissed.

His laugh was hot against you, "Good or bad?" his finger slid out and then stroked across your clit again.

"Do it again."

So he did.

You keened as he slipped it back in, releasing a moan when he began to stroke and curl his finger in search of that spark of pleasure that threatened to set you alight, all whilst his tongue dragged down the swell of your breasts to find your nipples peaked against the chill night air.

You had been told of the things that a man might do to take his pleasure, that if he cared enough to prepare it might be pleasant enough for you too, but you had not been warned of this - so you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt the second ease in to join the first, his name falling from your lips as you adjusted to the sensation, your own fingers tangling themselves amidst strands of his silken argent hair as a heat rose in your core.

"So perfect..." He sighed as you heard the thud of Aemond's boots being kicked to the floor, "My pretty little wife."

Your arousal deepened, his fingers thrusting into you with ease, and you eagerly chased the rapture it brought - moaning, breathing, begging for more as your hips moved in time with his touch. The cold metal of his belt clinking suddenly stirred something in you, and that earlier murmur of gratification found you again when you saw him use his spare hand to unhook the buckle blindly and reach for his cock.

He groaned against your collar, stroking himself to desperately relieve the ache that consumed him, burying his face in the crook of your neck as if to hide how wretched he was.

"Aemond..." Your breathless voice won his attention before he was too far gone. "I'm ready, I want it... I need this."

All he offered in response was a broken hum as he withdrew his fingers, adjusting his weight so that he could pull his trousers down the rest of the way and position himself directly between your legs. Your heart leapt at the hard length of him pressing up against your thigh, moaning as he brought his lips to yours once more and kissed you deep and slow.

You were both utterly naked, skin against skin, your bodies intertwined so perfectly that you wondered why you had needed to wait this long to find one another - that even though you had your whole lives ahead of each other, so much time had been stolen already.

Aemond pulled back one last time with a devastatingly soft expression on his face, all the longing and affection he possessed radiating off him in waves as he looked you in the eye and reached down to line himself up.

You both held your breath for a moment and the sound of your own pulse in your ears drowned out everything else inconsequential.

"You are mine..." You whispered, almost in disbelief, reaching up to stroke your thumb across his cheek one last time before your entire world shifted.

Aemond released that shaky breath, then gave his honest reply, "... Until the end of my days." and half a heartbeat later he slowly pushed in.

His head dropped forward when he felt the way you tensed around him, your body taking a little longer to adjust than you had anticipated - the fullness of his cock so different when compared with the adept fingers that you had only just gotten used to. You let out an uncomfortable gasp at how big he is once he hit as far as he could go, and Aemond of course latched onto it.

"Am I hurting you?" He lifted his head to check on you.

"A little," You winced, but then gave him a reassuring smile. "It doesn't hurt, it's just... tight."

"I shall take you slowly then," Aemond sighed and reached for your hand, slotted his fingers between yours and lifted it to rest beside your head as his thumb stroked across the back of your knuckle in a soothing motion. "You said that you wanted us both to enjoy this, remember?"

A swell of emotion washed over you, flowing endlessly like the streams of the Blackwater Rush until you can no longer bear alone the weight of how intimate and safe he made you feel.

"Of all the men in the Seven Kingdoms that I could have married," You crooned, stroking his hair back out of his face as you met his gaze with ardent eyes. "I am so endlessly relieved that it was you."

You tilted your head up to kiss him, heated lips against his own in a yearning embrace, gasping at the way he withdrew his hips only to sheathe himself again in an achingly slow movement - the sensation shifting away from discomfort to something altogether more pleasurable.

"____." He growled your name with a restrained groan and you felt him twitch inside you, his muscles tensed as he tried to maintain that unhurried pace, even though every single nerve in his body screamed for him to be unrelenting.

Part of you craved that, to satisfy the urgency that pooled in the pit of your stomach with each thrust, making sure to spur him along with each hitched breath and moan as you raked your fingers down the length of his back and dug your nails in whenever the promise of pleasure teased your core.

"More..."

You pulled him flush against your skin as soon as you were ready for it, almost desperate to chase the high that seemed to slip away every time you inched closer, and something in your husband just snapped. Aemond propped himself up on both arms, squeezing the hand he held as he pushed his weight down onto it and bent his neck to kiss you again - rougher, more feverish, plunging into you deeper and faster than before.

And suddenly he was hitting you at exactly the right angle, your back arching off the bed with a grateful moan every time his hips collided with the back of your thighs, the sound of nothing but your ragged breaths and skin against skin filling the space between your cries of satisfaction.

"A little longer..." He grunted, as if he could sense that you were close. "Together."

The muscles in his back stiffened at the way you lifted your legs up to wrap around his hips, which allowed him to drive into you with a frantic rhythm that finally carried you to the precipice, clamping down around him with a strangled moan.

As you tumbled over the edge he fell gloriously with you, your shared gratification dulled all thought and reason as you came together, shivering at the way he buried himself to the hilt as your orgasm sparked. It felt like you were burning, skin feverish and slick with sweat as Aemond collapsed against you and buried his head in the crook of your neck - drinking in the scent of your perfume as his hips gradually came to a halt once he was well and truly spent.

Your hands trembled as you slowly wrapped your arms around the width of his back and held him there, stroking and cradling him like that for a while, both of you too exhausted or exhilarated to move or think beyond your current state of existence. He was content with that it seemed, made clear by the way he softly hummed and sank further into your touch, his breathing even and satiated for a time as he pressed soft kisses against your shoulder and unsheathed himself with a tired groan.

"Stay like this." He asked of you, his voice heavy with fatigue.

You let out a soft laugh, "I'm not going anywhere with you on top of me."

"Good."

He nuzzled in closer and wove his arms around you tight, guarding you as if he were a dragon coveting some great treasure amidst the ruins of old Valyria, enjoying one last embrace before he reluctantly peeled his body from yours and lay back against the pillows beside you, and allowed the sweet solace of sleep to consume you both.

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ironstrange1991 · 1 year ago

Text

Careful What You Wish For

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: The reader and Stephen are students at Kamar Taj and when she needs his help with her exams, Stephen makes her an indecent offer.

Word Count: 6,5k

Warnings: SMUT: Dubcon, hate sex (at least in the beggining), handjob, oral sex with male receiving, forced (?) deep throat, umprotected p n v, lost of virginity, mentions of pain and blood, forced (?) creampie.

A/N: It took me a while to finish this fic, but I'm very happy with the result. Hope you like it.

You had been a student at Kamar Taj for no more than a few months when the new guy arrived. You were in the hall and even served him tea at the time, then you left letting the Ancient One and Master Mordo speak to him. However, of course you were peeking behind the curtains listening to the entire conversation. You saw the disrespectful and absurd way in which he addressed the Ancient One and you also saw how she, with all her power and somewhat sadistic humor, put him in his place.

You spent that day studying the old books that Wong had recommended for you and as you did so you heard the incessant knocking on the door and the shouts of "Let me in" or "I have nowhere to go." The situation was funny at first because like the Ancient One, you also had a certain sadistic side, but after hours of that incessant whining you started to feel sorry for the man. He was kinda cute.

When he was allowed to join you and become a student of the mystic arts you decided that you would not make his life easy. Whenever you could, you teased him for being the new guy, for being the guy whose hands could barely conjure mere sparks. During training in the courtyard, The Ancient One always had the two of you train together and you didn't take it easy on him. You might be small, but you were agile. He on the other hand was tall, had a well defined body, not too thin, very muscular, but was extremely slow. Apparently all the years of being an arrogant rich guy had made him soft and you liked seeing him lying on the floor whenever you got the chance.

"Y/n, no messing around. Grab your relics and get into fighting stance." Master Mordo instructed in one of the training afternoons and you chose one of the relics, but when the new guy went to get his, you slapped his hand making him look at you with a mixture of surprise and irritation. He was very handsome when he was angry, his blue eyes darkening with the fury he tried to contain. Wounded pride showing in every line of his furrowed brow.

"You don't deserve a relic yet, old man."

He ran his tongue across the corner of his cheek, clearly annoyed, but decided to play along. "I already told you my name is Stephen Strange."

You shrugged, getting into a fighting stance. "And I already said I don't care. Now be less miserable and conjure a weapon, so I'll feel less bad when I hit you."

He chuckled nervously, making a valiant effort to conjure something that could barely be described as a weapon, but it would have to do because you quickly went in for a blow that he reasonably defended himself from.

You smiled mischievously "You're getting better. I've always believed it's possible to learn through pain."

He clearly didn't like your comment, because he struck a blow at you that you barely have time to defend yourself by creating a shield.

"You don't know anything about my pain." He spat out the words.

Apparently you had hit a nerve. Excellent.

Your relationship with Strange didn't changed much beyond that for a long time, but you liked to think that somehow you were growing inside him, because he was always close even when you didn't necessarily need to be together. Like in the library.

It was as if he always knew the exact time you were in the library and would go there and steal books that were clearly not allowed for someone of his level. Not even at your level.

"You're going to end up with your head in a bucket over this." You said one of those nights while reading under the light of a single candle at the farthest desk in the library.

"Only if you tell on me." He responded, bringing the book under his arm and coming towards you. He threw the heavy book on the table and smiled arrogantly at you. When you looked at the book your eyes widened in complete amazement.

"This book belongs to the Ancient One's collection, are you crazy?"

He pulled out a chair and sat at the desk with you. "Wong said no knowledge is prohibited at Kamar Taj."

You rolled your eyes "Yes, I know that speech, it was exactly that that led Kaecilius to perdition."

Strange stared at you and then at the book. "So this is the book that was stolen."

"If it's in your hand, it's obvious that it wasn't stolen. Only a spell was removed from it. An evil spell that neither you nor I have the slightest idea of what it does."

But it was useless, every word of warning seemed to instigate the man even more. You had been around Strange long enough to know that he was hard-headed and when he put something in his head no one could take it away.

You closed the book you were reading and levitated it to the shelf by moving little more than your fingertips.

"Show off." He scolded as he flipped through the forbidden book.

"If you allow me, I will leave before you do something that’ll get us killed, or worse, expelled."

With that he smiled widely, that must have been the first time you saw him smiling, at least for you.

"Did you just quote Harry Potter? How old are you, twelve?"

You shrugged. "I'm 21 in two weeks, I'll take a gift." You said walking down the hall.

As days went by, it became increasingly clear to you that all that provocation had a much deeper meaning than you wanted to admit. You've never been with a man, in fact you've never even been interested in a man. Your life has always been studying and after you were orphaned after a car accident that killed your parents and almost killed you, you felt lost in the world and found out about Kamar Taj and dedicated yourself one hundred percent to it. That's what you always do, you find a source of interest, become completely obsessed and devote yourself to it until you learn everything you can from it and then move on to another obsession. At that point you were already recognizing the pattern and wondering how far you could go with that obsession with Strange when teasing or pestering him during training seemed to not be enough anymore.

You started teasing him in other ways, wearing robes that were tighter than necessary, shorts and tank tops that were smaller and shorter than allowed, all so he could get a good look at what he was missing. That is, of course, if he had any interest in you in the same way that you had in him. To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing. Provoking him was easy, but seducing wasn't exactly an area you had mastered.

The day before your birthday you were in the kitchen stealing what was left of your cake frosting when Strange caught you in the act. You were only wearing skimpy pajama shorts and a top that barely covered your breasts and bent over as you were, half of your body inside the fridge, you could imagine the image Stephen had of your ass.

"You should be embarrassed." His baritone voice came from behind you and in shock you hit your head on the top of the fridge which made him laugh. That laugh was something new and the way it made your stomach flutter was new too.

You took the pot out of the fridge, but left the door open, illuminating the dark kitchen with a beam of yellow light.

"It's my cake, my birthday, I have the right." You responded by sticking your index finger into the bowl and scooping out a little more of the icing and sticking it in your mouth teasingly taking it out with a loud pop.

You could see him swallowing thickly, his eyes getting darker with what you didn't quite know what it was.

"I'm referring to walking around the Kamar Taj dressed like that."

You shrugged "It's hot in Kathmandu." You made sure to smile mischievously at him. "After all, what are you doing walking around the Kamar Taj at this hour, Strange?" You questioned as if you had any right to it.

He pulled out a chair and sat down. "I can't sleep. My hands are hurting more than usual."

You looked at him for a second, still leaning against the sink with the glass bowl in your hand, trying to think of what to say to him, but ended up opting for the easiest answer.

"You don't expect me to take pity on you and offer to massage your hands or something, right?" You tried to sound sarcastic, but since there was some truth in your suggestion, your voice sounded softer than you would have liked.

"I don't want pity, but a massage would be nice."

“Fuck off” You replied, turning around to put the bowl in the sink and wash your hands, but mostly to hide how red your cheeks had gotten.

He sighed, getting up and mumbling a good night and leaving the kitchen and you stood there wondering if he was really serious or not. In any case, that was absurd, you both didn't have that kind of intimacy.

You ended up as usual in the library, finishing the last chapters of the book that you needed to finish for the end of the year exams. When you joined Kamar Taj, you didn't realize how much theory you would have to learn, you always thought it would be more practice than books and exams, but things weren't exactly as you imagined and you weren't as good at theory as you were in practice. Your memory wasn't like Strange's. The bastard could memorize an entire book in that deranged brain of his, you could barely memorize your own notes. Clearly there was a bargaining chip there, you thought ironically. I massage his hands and he help me study.

You chuckled to yourself thinking how absurd the idea was, but as you read the endless pages of the book that confused you more than clarified the subject, the more tempted you became to actually make the offer to Strange. The best you could get for an answer was no, right?

Finally, you gave up on your studies and put the books back on the shelves and left the library towards the dorms, you were still deciding between going straight to your dorm or knocking on Strange's door when you heard a sound coming from his room. You stopped in front of the door, your hand on the doorknob waiting and then you heard it again, a groan. He must have really been in a lot of pain to be groaning like that. You even felt bad about the way you spoke to him in the kitchen earlier.

You gave up knocking and simply turned the handle and to your surprise the door opened. It was dark inside, but the little light coming from the window made it clear as day what he was actually doing or trying to do and before he noticed your presence another groan escaped his lips followed by a curse "Damn hands. "

You swallowed heavily and closed the door behind you and only then did he notice your presence.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He asked completely defensively, adjusting himself in the small chair at the desk that could barely contain his entire size in it. At the same time he removed his hand from inside his boxers, but there was an erection there so obvious that the white fabric did little to hide.

"I came to make you an offer, but since you're busy I can come back another time." You answered turning around to leave.

He groaned and in that sound you could feel a little frustration, a little irritation and also some curiosity. “Wait.”

He snapped his fingers and some light bulbs came on. "If you tell anyone what you saw here, I swear I'll kill you." He threatened.

You smirked, "Threatening to kill me isn't the best thing you can do to keep my mouth shut. It's actually the worst thing, since we both know you're no match for me in combat."

He raised an eyebrow challenging you. "I've evolved a lot since I got here, Y/n, don't underestimate me."

You shrugged. "I'm not here to fight, Strange. I came to ask for help with my studies. You know my exams are coming up and I'm not as good in theory as I am in practice. If I do poorly in the exams, The Ancient One won't let me participate in the advanced spell training and I'm really excited to get started...”

"Let me get this straight. You're asking for my help? Is that right?"

You walked over to him and sat on the bed, crossing your arms dramatically. "Unfortunately it's my only option."

He shifted again in his chair and you couldn't help but notice that thing between his legs.

"So... what do you say?"

"I could help you. The question is whether I want to or not. Let's think about it for a minute. Since I got here you have dedicated yourself to make my life really hard. You are an insufferable brat, you are rude... "

"Okay, I understand. Where are you going with this? Are you going to help me or not?"

Strange smiled mischievously as if suddenly some brilliant idea had crossed his mind. "It will depend on what you’ll give me in return."

Something about that smile made the heat rise to your cheeks again and you swallowed thickly.

"You mentioned early in the kitchen that your hands were hurting. I thought… maybe you wanted a massage or something." Your voice became lower and lower and by the end of the sentence it was almost a whisper.

He hummed, "Something like that." He replied and then sighed heavily.

"Do you know what the big problem with my hands is? I can't jerk off"

You looked at him, completely shocked that he was saying that to you, but you supposed that after teasing him for all that time, he didn't exactly have much respect for you, especially because he must have already noticed that you maintained a certain interest in him.

"And tonight, after you were showing off that ass of yours for me in the kitchen I really needed to jerk off."

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

"You tease me and tease me, but you don't offer anything in return. You keep wearing these indecent clothes and I know it's not because of the heat, but because you want me to look at you. You call me an old man, but I know you love how old I am. So spare me that innocent face of yours because I know you're not innocent."

Actually, you were, but you didn't tell him that. You had never been with a man. Some heated kisses, yes, some touching and teasing, but nothing more than that. The problem was that you played your role too well.

"Are you going to help me or not?" You mumbled.

"Come here." He asked and you hesitated for a moment, but then you gave in and slowly walked towards him, stopping in front of him, waiting for what he would say next.

"I don't want a massage. I need your hands to jerk off. In other words, I want a handjob. A really good handjob and depending on how good it is I might be good and help you pass those exams."

You chewed on your lip. There was a part of you that liked the idea of being intimate with him like that, but another much more conscious part knew how wrong it was. You weren't comfortable with that situation.

"And how exactly is a really good handjob? I need to know my chances here if I'm going to do this."

He smirked. "Let me see your hands. Palms up."

You obeyed.

"They're small, which means you'll have to use both at the same time because, as you can see..." He brought his hands to the sides of his boxers and in a quick movement they were on his knee, freeing his huge dick. "It's very big."

"You're an arrogant idiot, you know that?" You mumbled, unable to hold your tongue in your mouth.

He grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his cock and instinctively you wrapped it around him and it felt so warm and so hard, you didn't imagine it was that hard.

"Come on, you know what to do!" He said, closing his eyes and sighing heavily.

You knelt down to his height and moved your hand up and down, but clearly something was wrong. "Shouldn't it be wet?" You asked innocently, to which he let out a small chuckle.

"Yeah, I don't have lube. You'll need to use your own spit."

You looked at him in surprise, but he clearly understood your reaction as disgust.

He sighed dramatically, held his own cock by the base and spat on it and then moved his trembling hand spreading the saliva over the entire length. "There. It's wet now."

You grabbed him, determined to end it once and for all. From what you knew, he hadn't had sex for a long time and if you did it right he wouldn't last long.

You started to pump him up and down quickly, but contrary to your plans, he held your hand "Slow down, I want to enjoy myself for a bit."

You sighed doing what he wanted, you used both hands to stroke him slowly making sure to rotate your hands on the way down and making sure to touch his head on the way up. It was your first time doing that, but you weren't a saint, you had already watched porn and remembered some things and by the way he started to squirm, barely able to stay still in the chair, you could tell you were doing something right.

He started to moan too, at first low and then louder and soon some words began to escape his lips as if he was unable to contain them.

"Fuck Y/n, you really know what you're doing, don't you? Oh I missed this, it's been so long!"

You couldn't hide from yourself that his words seemed to move you, it was almost as if you could feel a warmth in your chest, a surge of pride at being praised by him and more than that, you felt your panties getting wet.

There was no point trying to hide that you were enjoying this. Deep down you always imagined yourself in some kind of erotic scenario with Strange. Alone in your small room, you found yourself thinking about him and he was right, you teased him to try to get some reaction from him. You just never imagined things would happen this way, but you were too involved in it to care.

You watched in delight as how much of that sticky liquid came out of his tip the more you stimulated him, and you also realized that you liked the noises that your hands jerking him made, not to mention his moans that got louder and louder. The next thing you knew, you were squeezing your thighs together and he only didn't notice because he had leaned his head back and kept his eyes closed, but when an involuntary moan escaped your lips he looked at you intently with a grin in his lips.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you? You dirty little brat!"

You couldn't maintain eye contact with him, so you kept your eyes on his cock, noticing every vein, every detail of that cock that was the first one you had the chance to see up close.

You spat on his cock and continued your work without responding to his provocation, but he wasn't willing to let it go.

"Look at me."

You did what he asked somewhat reluctantly.

"I want your mouth, sweetheart."

You looked at him in surprise, not because of what he asked, but because of the way he referred to you and especially because of how it made you feel.

"I... I don't know how to do it." You replied and he smirked.

"I find that hard to believe."

You looked away feeling your face even hotter. Was it really possible that you had played your role so well that you managed to make the man you were interested in believe you were a whore? You were not. You weren't even close to that, but now it was too late to try to change his opinion about you.

"Tell me how you like it." You asked, disguising your inexperience.

"Deep in the throat. That's how I like it. But I'll take what you give me. Just use this mouth of yours for something more productive than talking shit."

You were slightly offended and bothered by the way he was treating you. Despite everything, in your fantasies he was always kind, but you tried not to let that show and opened your mouth as much as you could and he stuck his head in and instinctively reached his hand up to your head and grabbed a handful of your hair. "Use your tongue, swirl it in the head."

You did exactly as he asked and felt his hold on your hair tighten. He started to push your head down, forcing you to take him deeper and deeper until you gagged and tears ran down your face.

"That's how I like it." He took his cock out of your mouth and held your chin making you look at him. "There's nothing like a good cock to tame a brat, right sweetheart?"

You swallowed the saliva you had gathered in your mouth and nodded obediently.

"You can take a little more, can't you?"

You nodded.

"Good girl. Open your mouth really wide, I'm going to go deeper this time, okay?"

You just nodded again, apparently that was all you could do, obey his commands even if you didn't agree with them. You felt as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper into your mouth, entering your throat until you could no longer breathe. Automatically you grabbed his thighs and started pushing to try to get away from him, but he didn't let you go.

"It's okay. Just breathe through your nose" He cooed. You had never heard that tone of voice from him, at least not when he was talking to you, but a part of you liked it.

You did as he ordered, but the sensation was no less uncomfortable when you felt him going down your throat. Your gag reflex was horrible and soon you were crying profusely as streams of saliva ran down your mouth as he continued thrusting against your throat.

"Look at you, you're crying on my dick, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how beautiful this is?"

You pushed his thigh again and tried to lift your head and this time he allowed it.

He continued holding your hair though and wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"Not such a bully now, are you?"

You were feeling overwhelmed, your voice refused to come out and there was a secret part inside you that was loving the feeling of being used, even when you knew deep down that it was wrong.

He stood up and pulled you up too. "Let's make a deal. I'll touch you now and if you're dry I'll let you finish with the handjob and we'll stop here..."

You stared at him, fully aware of the mess that was between your legs.

He smirked, pleased with your reaction and continued explaining "...but if you're wet... Oh sweetheart, if you're wet, I'll fucking ruin you."

When his hand slipped into your shorts and panties your legs were shaking and could barely support you standing. You knew you should tell him the truth, that you should stop it while there was still time, but you couldn't. You were paralyzed. Physically your body was having positive reactions, you were soaking wet between your legs, you were ready to take him. But mentally you were a mess. This wasn't what you imagined for your first time. It wasn't how it should be.

"Oh I knew it! I could smell it on you. Your arousal... such a sweet smell."

You placed your hand over his hand "Strange... I don't know..."

"Shhh, it's okay. I think you can call me Stephen now."

He moved his middle finger through your folds and circled your clit making your hips move involuntarily against his hand. He brought his face closer to yours and for a minute you thought he was going to kiss you, but instead he whispered in your ear. "You always wanted this, right? All the teasing was because you wanted me. I bet you've already touch yourself thinking about me, haven't you?"

You didn't respond, but when he took two fingers inside you, you winced feeling a sting deep inside. He didn't seem to notice.

"Tell me." He insisted.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"I always wanted you." You whined.

He hummed "I'm here now. I'm going to give you what you've always wanted."

With that he bent you over the desk and pulled your shorts and panties down to your knees and you could hear him spitting into his hand.

"Stephen...w-wait..."

He spread his saliva at your entrance and you clung as best you could to the edges of the small wooden desk bracing yourself for what was to come.

He didn't say anything, he just buried himself inside of you with a strong, firm thrust and it was done. All the fantasies, all the expectations around it disappeared in a second, giving way to pain, a tearing sting that brought tears to your eyes, but you didn't make a sound.

He groaned in pleasure, but in confusion too and then stopped altogether. When he spoke again his voice sounded low and slightly nervous.

"Were you a fucking virgin? Really?"

You let out the breath you were holding in small puffs, "I t-tried to tell you."

He pulled out and turned you around to face him. "You didn't tell me shit. How was I supposed to know?!"

You wiped the tears from your eyes "It's no big deal okay? I should have resolved this a long time ago, I just never found..." You bit your tongue before you said too much. You had already given him too much power over you that night.

Stephen ran a hand nervously through his mouth. "We'd better stop this here." He stated, but you held his hand.

"Stephen... it's no big deal. I want this. Just... do it."

He held your face between his huge, shaking hands and stared into your eyes and you could see all the certainty in him slipping away but you had to keep going. If you stopped now it would be too humiliating.

"Stephen, please." You whispered.

"You stupid little brat!" Stephen said with a heavy sigh and then kissed you. An angry and desperate kiss. A clash of lips, tongues and teeth mixed with the hums that escaped your throats.

In one quick movement he picked you up, bride style, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

"What are you doing?"

He walked over to his bed and laid you carefully on the pillows.

"If we're going to do this, sweetheart, let's do it right."

You watched as he got rid of his tee and found yourself analyzing every inch of his body. He was so beautiful, his defined chest and abdomen, his strong arms, his hands... you lost count of how many times you stared at his hands while your mind conjured up the dirtiest scenarios possible.

"Like what you see?" He asked arrogantly and you couldn't help but roll your eyes, it was stronger than you. "If I didn't like it I wouldn't be here."

"I thought you were here to offer me a deal." He smirked grabbing your shorts and panties that were still tangled around your knees and pulling them off. He threw them on the floor, staring at you with a damn arrogant smile on his lips. "Give up being a brat, this behavior doesn't suit virgins."

You felt the heat returning to your cheeks, but you didn't have time to think of a response because he climbed onto the bed and came on top of you, your legs parted so he could settle between them and before you could understand what he was doing, his lips were on your belly as he lifted the tank top you were wearing and continued his assault on your skin. He kissed and bit you while lifting your top exposing your breasts. He caught your nipple in his mouth, sucking it with newfound passion. A low moan escaped your lips while he did it and you moved your hips up involuntarily. He hummed pleased with your response.

"Stephen...please."

He moved his lips up to your neck, sucking a bruise on your sensitive skin. The touch of his goatee making your entire body shiver. He continued moving his mouth up, nibbling on your earlobe, breathing heavily into your ear on purpose while grinding his hard dick against your uncovered pussy.

"Tell me what you want." He whispered.

But instead of answering him, you surrendered to your fear and asked. "Will it hurt more?"

He cupped your face. "The worst part is over, but I'll take it slow now, I promise."

You shook your head. "No. Just do whatever you have to do until you make me feel good."

He grabbed your chin with more force than you would expect and used his other hand to direct his cock to your entrance and kissed you as he entered you again, going all the way in. You felt the same sting deep in your belly, but it hurt less this time, however the discomfort of having him inside you was something you still needed to get used to. He was big and even though he wasn’t moving you could feel his dick pulsing inside you. It was an strange sensation.

"Now move with me." He asked, grabbing your thigh and wrapping your leg around his waist and with that going even deeper. The movements began, he thrusted slowly but hard and you clung to him, your arms wrapped around his torso, nails biting against the skin of his back as you tried to imitate his movements.

The whole time his lips didn't leave your lips, your chin, your neck. He kissed and bit everywhere he could reach and in between his kisses he let out moans and groans and little praises.

"Oh fuck, this little virgin pussy feels so good... so tight."

You didn't imagined how much of the sexual response was much more physiological than a conscious thing. Before you even knew it your body was moving beneath his with much more desire and the pain and discomfort were replaced by a type of pleasure that was much stronger than the one you got when touching yourself in your room. Each thrust from Stephen triggered a new wave of desire and suddenly what he was giving you didn't seem to be enough, you wanted him all inside you, you wanted him to merge with you until it was no longer possible to know where one ended and the other began.

"Oh my god... it feels so good." You moaned against his lips as you wrapped both legs around his waist, crossing your feet behind his back and trapping him there.

"Yeah? My cock feels good inside you. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

“Uh hum” was all you could respond, but it was enough to inflate Stephen’s ego even more and he groaned loudly in response, gripping the headboard and you couldn’t tell how, but you knew he was close. There was something about the way his eyes were fixed on yours, his breathing became faster, his movements more irregular and in the midst of your bliss you were still able to reason "Stephen... I'm not taking anything."

But your words didn't have the effect you expected, on the contrary, he seemed to become even more determined to finish. His mouth fell open, loud moans and grunts escaping straight from his throat and his thrusts became even harder and faster.

"You're being such a good girl for me. Letting me fuck your pussy raw. I think I'll make it up to you." He rested his forehead on yours and continued. "I'm going to fill you with my cum and you're going to take all of it, won't you?"

You shook your head, but he shushed you.

"Of course you will. I'll leave you leaking my cum for days so you remember what you get for being a good girl. Who knows, maybe you'll come back for more?"

"But... we can't..."

He thrusted even harder against you and your mouth went agape with the feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. You knew you were close, but at the same time it was unlike anything you had ever felt. I was stronger and it seemed to come from much deeper inside you.

"Of course we can. Going to fuck a baby inside you, sweetheart. I know you will look beautiful carrying my baby."

Your pussy fluttered at those words. How was it possible for you to feel that way? You knew you couldn't let him do that, but you didn't have the strength to fight him when your body was against you. The tension inside your stomach increased and you were so close, all you needed was a small push to fall and surrender to your climax.

"S-Stephen... I'm gonna cum. Oh my... shit."

He kept his pace holding on to the headboard to put more strength into his thrusts while with his other hand he grabbed your chin making you look at him.

"Look at me, Y/n. I want to see it happening. Show me how good my cook is making you feel."

"So good... cock feels so good inside me. I am so lucky." You muttered, barely aware of your own words. "I need to cum. Let me cum... Please..."

He smirked, surely satisfied with your total submission. "You can cum, sweetheart. Do it now."

The tension exploded within you with an intensity you had never experienced before. Unlike every time you came, the sensation was not concentrated in your clit, but came from the inside out, making your entire body shake and tears accumulate at your waterline.

"There you go." Stephen stopped thrusting, watching you with a victorious smile on his lips and then kissed you, a wet kiss, full of lust and desire. Fuck, he was such a good kisser. You felt yourself melting on his lips.

He groaned at your lips and, against your will, you felt him spilling inside you. You knew you should fight it, but in your state of pure bliss you couldn't find the strength within yourself to even try.

He broke the kiss only to lower his lips to your neck where he sucked a bruise too visible for you to hide with your robes. But you knew that was exactly his intention. He wanted to claim you. Showing you that from that moment on you were his and no matter how absurd it might seem, you liked the idea. In fact, that was exactly what you wanted.

He rolled to the side when he was finished, his breathing slowly returning to normal and you lay there feeling the weight of everything that had happened, disbelief and shame finally taking over you. You were suddenly terribly self conscious about lying naked on Strange's bed while his cum dripped from your violated pussy.

In the middle of your internal debate you decided to get up, but you were interrupted by Strange who held your arm and asked with some disbelief. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To my room. I... I think I need a shower."

He cupped your face smirking "Wait here. I'll clean you up."

You waited for him motionless on the bed, your heart beating so hard you could hear it pounding in your ears. You heard the sounds coming from the bathroom, he had left the door open and the room was too small so you couldn't hear him. He peed and wash himself and then came back a few minutes later with a towel in his hands and went back to bed. He cleaned you gently, the towel was wet with warm water and it felt good although the whole situation was extremely embarrassing.

"I'll help you with your studies." He said when he finished what he was doing. "You can wait for me in the library after dinner, but you can't rely on that alone to pass your exams. You need to read. That's what works for me. Hours of reading."

You sat on the bed and stared in disbelief at the small stain of blood on the white sheet. Your face blushed so hard you needed to look the other way.

"I shouldn't have done what I did, Y/n. I had no idea you were a virgin. I'm so sorry. I imagine it wasn't what you expected your first time to be."

You shook your head. "I always wanted it to be you." You confessed, staring at your hands. "You're right. I have feelings for you. That's why I tease you... so you'll notice me."

He sighed, but there was a certain tenderness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"And do you want this to continue, or it’ll be a one-time thing?" Stephen asked and for a second you could see expectation in his eyes, as if he was waiting a long time for the answer he wanted to hear.

"I don't know, Strange. Do you want it to continue?"

He smirked looking away and then he nodded. "Yes. I want to do it again. And you can keep calling me Stephen. I think it's the most normal thing after I took your virginity."

You felt the heat running down from your cheeks to your neck.

"You look beautiful all red like that." He smiled at you. "I always thought you were beautiful, Y/n."

He came closer and cupped your face and kissed you. Soft and calm for the first time. Your lips moved in sync and somehow this kiss felt even more intimate than the others. When he broke the kiss there was a passionate smile on his lips.

He sighed getting up. "Feel free to use the bathroom. I'll change the sheets so we can sleep."

You did as he suggested, hiding in the bathroom while he disappeared with the evidence of your lost innocence. You took the opportunity to wash your face with clean water and went back to the room. He was already lying down and patted the mattress for you to join him. You picked up his tee that was on the floor and put it on and then lay down on the bed next to him. He pulled you into his arms and you both fell silent.

I need to know that you're okay, Y/n" He said.

You nodded. "I'm fine. Really." You glanced at him for a moment and then smiled. "You can call me sweetheart whenever you want. It's terribly cute." You teased.

He pinched your cheek "As you wish, sweetheart. Now let's try to sleep. We need to wake up early for training tomorrow. Promise you'll be good to me."

Your smirked “I’ll try.”

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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toxicanonymity · 9 months ago

Note

Hey, this person has directly credited you as their ideas for their character bots

https://poe.com/pedroxo

[ Background: an account made AI bots of my fics and others to various extents. I had an anxiety attack quietly watching Tumblr melt down over this topic. When the dust settled, this post was the first and last I said about it to address continued inquiries. ]

unauthorized AI Bots of fics

Thank you everyone who kindly let me know about the >25 unauthorized bots using content from my fics.

Listen, I strongly relate to the desire to talk to these characters - I've said it before. I appreciate how invested someone must be to go to all this effort, and I appreciate the credit. But it's not right and I'm not comfortable with it. You may not realize what it feels like to the writer. It feels like a violation.

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first incident for me. Someone once made a bot of my fic 4 days after I publicly said not to in response to an ask. I didn't find out until it had almost 1k "chats" and you'll see I use that term very loosely under the cut.

I've said don't do this, and it's in my masterlist. I've even shared my anxiety about being so slow to update that people take matters into their own hands. I'm not really sure what else to say. I'm tired.

Please don't do this. And when you see chatbots built on fics, please alert the writers.

IMPORTANT The bots are down. I don't want the person to be harassed - i think that's obvious based on my tone from the start.

Beyond these, there were more bots from night walks, slasher, and stepdad, ones from Raider and Speakeasy and even a few from hypotheticals I published like when stepdad goes to jail for indecent exposure or when you aren't getting wet for raider joel.

Night Walks: Original, Soaked

Left in Lincoln pt. 1; jalbird

Slasher: Midnight Tow, Stop Playing

Stepdad: Clock, Ring Doorbell

Sorry I was too overwhelmed to do the IMG text on each of these but it's basically just snippets from the works listed.

After being contacted, the person copied and pasted a message to multiple writers saying they were sorry, didn't know what they were doing, were deactivating their acct. They asked to spread their message, and said have an amazing day/night.

------

Past Incident

IMGs: 1) I answered an ask August 16 saying no. The asker had "offered" to credit me. 2) August 20, someone made a bot without credit. This is worse imo and suggests trying to hide their actions.

I told a lot of people about this, but it was an isolated bot unlike the profile discovered 2/23.

IMG: comparison of left in lincoln text to the bot.IMG: A seven paragraph narrative bot output. Obviously failed my test if you've read the fic.

-----

ANYWAY

If you're not already on ao3, I recommend signing up. This isn't a threat to leave, but I may not put everything on Tumblr forever. My AO3 profile.

Edit: I like tumblr because I like answering lore and questions and getting thots, plus my blog is very multimedia with many awesome contributions from different people. Please help keep it that way, because your interaction is why I'm here. I value everyone's engagement here.

For many reasons, I'm less and less comfortable with Tumblr being the primary home for all my writing. I'm aware people can still take things from AO3, but not as easily. I'm trying to be nice by preemptively suggesting people sign up on AO3 if they want to read everything. If it's not worth the trouble to you, just don't do it.

----

Ty very much to those who have been supportive and checked on me. It means a lot. I will admit this made me put on a hat and cry in public lol.

feel free to rb this because idk if everyone realizes the extent of this or how jarring it can look.

#cw discourse #anti ai #taps mic

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69misato69 · 2 years ago

Text

Desperate Times Call For Desperate Measures (Alhaitham x Kaveh) ✦ smut, 3.5k

archive of our own ✦ twitter

masterlist pinned on my profile !

Summary: Kaveh overhears Haytham having a one night stand and he is unable to think of anything but fucking him. The initial premise was meant to be crack, then it turned into an actual fic but I do still find it kind of funny if I'm being honest. I hope you enjoy :)

Top Alhaitham x Bottom Kaveh

cw: blowjobs, handjobs, ejaculation, slight overstim, unprotected anal sex

writer's note: explicit +18 content, please view at your own risk. thank you, have fun !

“Haytham!” Kaveh angrily walked into the living room to find his roommate reading on the couch as always, “We have a problem.”

The scribe didn’t lift his gaze from the page and turned it over with his index finger, “I have a feeling that it's your problem and I have absolutely nothing to do with it.” Kaveh crossed his arms at his chest, refusing to follow-up in an attempt to get his attention. Per usual, it was a futile effort, so he gave up with a long, annoyed exhale, “I can’t get laid. It’s getting out of hand.”

Alhaitham was unfazed by the abrupt indecency, it was Kaveh after all, he had spent years trying to teach the concept of boundaries to him but the man was sticking to his values of oversharing and making every detail of his life public to their small household. “Impossible, it's your only source of income.” Alhaitham jested, skilfully hiding the half-smirk that formed on the corner of his mouth. Kaveh gasped and squeezed his fists, “Rude and untrue.” he protested. Alhaitham turned another page and settled more comfortably in his seat, “Mmhm, do go on.”

“My proposal is to fuck.”

“Seems like an appropriate solution, any candidates?”

Alhaitham could see where this conversation was going from miles away, but for now his plan was playing dumb and savoring the moment as his roommate further embarrassed himself. “The proposal is for you and me.” Kaveh certainly didn’t sound ashamed, laying down an unchaste and indecent offer as if it was nothing.

“You want us to fuck?”

“Yes. What is your answer?”

“Who fucks who?

“You top.”

“Why, you don't like it?

Alhaitham heard footsteps approaching him, Kaveh snatched the book away from his hand and put it down on the table. Alhaitham hated it when he did that, but he was drawing too much joy from the situation that he wasn’t bothered at all.

Kaveh stood between his parted legs and looked down on him with his arms crossed once again. “Haytham. Listen to me very carefully. Fucking you won’t solve my problem. This is serious. I need to be thrown around, okay? I need to forget my own name. I can’t take it anymore. You’re as emotional as a Scarab, so I’m sure you won't catch feelings. Also, I assume you’re packing down there. So please , stop drawing this out and just answer me.” he explained calmly, as if the words he uttered weren’t absolutely insane.

Alhaitham nodded, “Fine, I accept.” Kaveh’s eyes lit up momentarily, then the spark vanished with the growing awkwardness between them. Alhaitham parted the silence, “What are you waiting for?” Kaveh was frozen in place, he hadn’t planned things this far. He didn’t even think the scribe would accept. Though it seemed impulsive, it had been on his mind for some time, since the day he was supposed to check up on a project and stay overnight in the desert last week.

He had told Alhaitham beforehand, it was an unspoken rule between the two. Kaveh enjoyed having people over but they kept it confined within the walls of his bedroom, Alhaitham would only see those people for a moment in the mornings when they would be leaving, but he would never bring home someone he was involved with. Kaveh didn’t exactly know why, but he knew that the scribe definitely cared for his privacy. Regardless of the reason, he tried to tell Alhaitham when he was going to be away, in case he wanted to have the house to himself and have people over. Everytime he came back he would notice signs but would never pester his roommate about it.

So last weekend, he got ready for his departure as always, failing to account for the fact that he was extremely tired. He came home and went to bed immediately, confident that he would easily get up near noon and leave with the convoy. But when he finally opened his eyes, rested and light as a feather, the time was nearing five in the afternoon.

He got off the bed, cursing as he made his way through the kitchen to quench his thirst. He sat on the balcony for a while and then ran inside upon spotting Alhaitham in the distance. The scribe approached the door, Kaveh could hear him from the large window opening to the balcony. But he wasn’t alone, there was a tall brunette tangled around his arm. Kaveh rubbed his temples, trying to devise a plan by the time they made their way up.

If he left he would undoubtedly run into them, plus he wasn’t even dressed. Even if he found a way to evade them, everyone that would welcome him in the city was out in the desert with the rest of the team. Though he liked to poke fun at Alhaitham, he handled most of the housework, cooking and cleaning, taking care of their plants and, taking care of Kaveh. It was his house after all, and if he saw Kaveh there he would surely never bring anyone home ever again. Kaveh truly didn’t want to shatter his trust in him.

So, the only option was to hide in his room. It wasn’t so bad, he was still tired after all. Hurriedly, he sneaked a bottle of water and some snacks and ran to his bed. Alhaitham walked in with the man that Kaveh didn’t know, they cooked dinner together, laughing and talking about things that were terribly boring to the blonde. Yet, it was interesting to hear Alhaitham crack up at the jokes, he surely never laughed like that at Kaveh or at anyone at work.

It was actually kind of nice to see a more human side of him. Kaveh couldn’t help but smile all evening, sketching his new plans quietly and occasionally taking breaks to eavesdrop on the two. From what he had gathered, it didn’t seem like a serious relationship, maybe it was just a casual thing, and maybe it wasn’t even a ‘relationship’ at all, Kaveh thought, until later that night, when Alhaitham took the man to his room.

After that, all that Kaveh heard was the rustling of clothes and kisses through the thin walls, and the man moaning Alhaitham’s name over and over again. Kaveh should’ve just plugged his ears, but he felt paralyzed, unable to move a single muscle until he realized he was gripping tightly onto the sheets. He whispered curses when he felt a twitch in his groin, it was extremely annoying to get hard at Alhaitham’s grunts.

Aside from the frustration he also felt, perverted. It was wrong , slipping his hand inside his boxers was wrong, imagining his own self under Alhaitham was wrong, lusting over something that he wasn’t even meant to hear was so wrong. But, that didn’t stop him. He laid down, playing with himself to the melody of his roommate’s soft moans and words of praise.

It was so unattainable, what that man was achieving. It was so out of touch for someone like Kaveh. What he felt wasn’t jealousy, but it was certainly something. After the two settled down, Kaveh also felt his eyelids get heavy once again. He rid himself of the overwhelming thoughts and drifted off to sleep. Luckily, the house was empty in the morning. All that remained was a note with beautiful handwriting that Alhaitham slipped through the door, probably before leaving for work.

“Hope you had a safe trip back. I’ll be away until tomorrow. Please do not leave the window open again. H.”

Kaveh sighed. He went to drop off the plans and apologize for missing the trip. Since he was going to have the house all to himself, he decided to hit the tavern and hopefully find someone to spend the night with. He desperately needed to shake off Alhaitham’s voice from his ears, but it seemed impossible. Instead of taking an interest in newcomers, he spent the entire night drinking and thinking of his roommate.

Kaveh barely made it through the rest of the week, bickering with Alhaitham as usual but having his mind drift off to lewd fantasies of him whenever he was unoccupied was exhausting and confusing. So he really wasn’t lying when he told Alhaitham that he couldn’t get laid, Kaveh had just conveniently left out the part that Alhaitham was the reason for that, and the only cure for his debilitating condition.

“I—don’t know. Do something, Haytham.”

“I take care of your drunk ass every night, you do something for once.”

“Fine, but don’t enjoy it too much.”

Kaveh lowered himself to his knees and reached to undo the scribe’s pants. “I don’t think I will.” Alhaitham chuckled.

“Stop being mean or I’ll bite.”

“It’d be the last time you ever bite anything, Kaveh.”

Kaveh couldn’t help but laugh as he slipped away his roommate’s underwear. “Damn, pretty.” he remarked out loud accidentally. It really was decent, Kaveh couldn’t help but imagine it inside himself, the thought lit a spark in his groin. “It’s a dick?” Alhaitham said, bewildered by Kaveh’s comment.

“So, I’m not allowed to find it pretty?”

“Why don't you suck it so I can have some peace and quiet?”

Kaveh huffed and looked up at him daringly. Not fighting back was taking everything he had, but for once, Kaveh had the chance to actually impress Alhaitham. When it came to housework, the scribe would always complain that he didn’t do things properly, and when he acclaimed Kaveh's work as an architect, well, that wasn’t really a personal thing. So, he decided to revel in the opportunity. He tied up his hair neatly and leaned forward, holding onto Alhaitham’s waist with both of his hands.

Kaveh first left a trail of kisses all over his thighs, grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin. Alhaitham twitched at the sensation as the blonde’s mouth moved up to his groin. He dragged his tongue around the scribe’s cock hungrily, being rewarded with light moans. Kaveh sucked on the tip, looking up shamelessly before sliding his mouth all the way down.

He was bobbing his head up and down and altering the way he sucked and released with such precision that Alhaitham felt like he could orgasm at any moment if he wanted to. “Not bad.” he mumbled, it was an understatement but was necessary to humble Kaveh.

But he was persistent, he supported his movements by placing one hand around Alhaitham’s base, timing them in a way that he knew would drive his roommate insane. Curses spilled out of Alhaitham as he yanked on Kaveh’s ponytail and pulled him up by the waist.

“Hey! I wasn’t done.” the blonde objected, but he still wrapped his arms around his roommate’s neck regardless. Alhaitham freed his hair from the pin and pressed a kiss onto his neck, “Well, I want you here, on my lap.”

Kaveh felt his heart skip a beat, Alhaitham stripped him slowly while peppering kisses all over his upper body. He shivered once he was fully naked on the scribe’s lap, the erection rubbing against his entrance already.

Alhaitham took such good care of him, massaging his thighs, playing with his hardened nipples and leaving bite marks all over his sensitive skin. Kaveh held onto his roommate’s shoulders for support, he felt like a ball of yarn at the mercy of a cat’s paws, he had no choice but to unravel.

Alhaitham slipped two fingers in Kaveh’s mouth, watching the blonde carefully as he sloppily lubricated them, eager to move on. Kaveh was already grinding back and forth, he couldn’t help it, just as he couldn’t help tilting his head back and moaning Alhaitham’s name as he quivered for his touch.

Alhaitham took out his fingers and circled them around Kaveh’s hole. Though they had been in this position for some time, Kaveh leaned in for the first time to kiss his roommate on the lips. Alhaitham passionately responded, intruding Kaveh’s mouth with his tongue and his hole with his fingers.

The blonde sank even deeper on his lap, grinding onto the digits with excitement. His moans escaped into Alhaitham’s mouth, hot breath hovering over the scribe’s face. Alhaitham pulled away and lifted his lips to line up with his entrance, Kaveh took a deep breath before pushing all the way down, all in one go with a low groan.

Alhaitham hissed, the warmth came so suddenly, and Kaveh’s walls sucked him up with no hesitation or delay, it was impressive, how he took it with such ease and the way fit him perfectly. “So good, Kaveh.” Alhaitham purred in his ear while playing with his nipples. The blonde stuttered and then decided not to speak at all. Instead, he slid back and forth, up and down in circular motions, fucking himself on Alhaitham’s cock as he kept pampering him.

“L—let’s go inside.” Kaveh offered. Alhaitham carried him to his bedroom without pulling out, with every step he took the blonde gently hopped up on his lap. The scribe entered and immediately slammed Kaveh on the wall, he cried out from the overwhelming sensations, the cold surface against his back, the sharp momentary pain that stabbed his hips, and the way Alhaitham reached so far up his hole with the force of the impact. He was thrusting somewhere so deep that Kaveh didn’t even know such a place existed.

“Thrown around, you said, right? Does this suffice?

Alhaitham pushed him even further, instead of letting Kaveh slip back, he held his hips and drew them in, maintaining the depth that made Kaveh’s eyes widen with every thrust. “I don’t know about making you forget your own name but I’ll make sure you at least won’t be able to speak it.” Alhaitham cooed in his ear. Kaveh was already far gone, drool spilled from his lips over to his roommate’s chest, he was gasping for air, breathing out incoherent words.

Alhaitham kept holding him close, Kaveh didn’t deserve anything short of being filled up to the brim. Though, after a few more thrusts, he felt warm liquid seep out of Kaveh’s tip and pulled away, leaving only an understimulating portion inside. Instinctively, the blonde tried to wrap his fingers around his cock but Alhaitham swiftly pinned both of his wrists above his head with a single move. Kaveh winced at the distress, he struggled to free his hands and whined, “Stop it, Haytham, you’re—ruining it.”

Alhaitham smirked, “Oh, am I?” The rest of Kaveh’s load leaked out pathetically as he begged the scribe to help him out. Alhaitham didn’t seem to care, he watched the blonde ride it out with a cruel and merciless smile. “Put me down.” Kaveh spat out angrily.

Alhaitham stepped away and released his grip on his wrists and hip. Kaveh hadn’t accounted for the fact that his legs were on the edge of giving out, with Alhaitham gone he collapsed on the floor, his knees knocking up against the harsh, wooden surface. Alhaitham grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled it back roughly so Kaveh would look up at him.

“I’ll give you a proper one, Kaveh. I promise.” His words were comforting but the playful look on his face surely wasn’t. Regardless, Kaveh was hitting a point where all the pain started to feel right. His aching back, knees and hips, his abused hole that was already yearning for more, and now the stinging feeling at the base of his scalp. It had become so pleasurable, so delicious as it pumped adrenaline through Kaveh’s veins.

Alhaitham was just as he expected, selfish and impudent, disregarding the amount of agony he was putting Kaveh through and discourteously ruining his high while feeling zero remorse. The more Kaveh realized it, the more he was drawn to the scribe. He stuck out his tongue, leaving a wet trail from Alhaitham’s base all the way up to his tip. He encased his cock inside his lips, this time much more gently, grazing the tip against the insides of his cheeks.

Alhaitham had expected him to make a bigger fuss before settling into submission again. “I didn’t know you could behave so well.” he gave a backhanded compliment that made Kaveh’s brows furrow and pushed his head away. The blonde’s whines stayed muffle on his throat when the scribe picked him up and laid him on the bed.

Kaveh relaxed onto the mattress, finally resting on a soft surface. Alhaitham sat between his legs, but the sight suddenly stunned him. He had seen Kaveh almost everyday for the past two years, and in almost every conceivable scenario. Exhausted and alert, sober and drunk out of his mind, snorting from laughter and sobbing uncontrollably. But this was a new entry, unregistered. Laying down on the bed with bruised knees and a sheer coat of sweat, eager to have Alhaitham take care of him. His golden locks scattered over the pillow and his cheeks tinted pink.

He looked absolutely breathtaking, and Alhaitham realized that he never stared at him for this long. The most he would do was take stolen, quick glances from his book when Kaveh would fall asleep on the couch. Not that he was going to wake up, but secretly Alhaitham was scared of seeing something, he didn’t even know what that “something” was, but now it was clear to him. Kaveh was beautiful, ethereal. Slithering over him lustfully, it wasn’t like anything Alhaitham had ever seen before.

You’re as emotional as a Scarab, Haytham.

“I know, I’m pretty.” Kaveh snapped him out of his thoughts, Alhaitham had lost track of time, he scoffed with a dramatic eye-roll, “And a shallow idiot.”

“Well you almost came inside that idiot two times so that makes you even more shallow.”

“What?”

“You edged twice, didn’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

“Well I felt it.”

Alhaitham chuckled, he was awfully good at hiding every physical cue, it was interesting, Kaveh was oblivious to his mastery during daily life, but apparently he was immune to the deception when it came to being intimate.

“How is it that a field expert like you can't find someone?” Alhaitham quipped as he leaned forward and slid inside.

“I—fuck—don’t know. It’s been like that for the past week.”

“No luck yesterday either?”

“Uhh…not really. I sat at the tavern but no one even bought me a drink.”

“I would. If you were there.”

“Sorry?” Kaveh was flushed, his legs wrapped around the scribe’s waist went numb for a moment, his mind was at a blank as well.

“I was at the tavern yesterday, doing corrections. Almost all night.” Alhaitham seemed very calm, he was sliding in and out with a relaxed pace, watching Kaveh slowly lose composure and fall apart. It truly was a terrible time for his roommate to come up with an excuse or a lie, and that was why Alhaitham had brought it up right then and there.

Kaveh felt like an ice cube slowly melting away into a puddle, for a brief moment it actually seemed pretty ideal to disappear so he didn’t have to deal with the situation. Luckily, Alhaitham didn’t expect an explanation, he picked up the pace, eliciting deep moans off of the blonde’s lips. Kaveh was already feeling close again, still longing for a satisfactory relief unlike his last.

“Your cute little ploy is very amusing but the next time you want me, just say so.” Alhaitham mewled as he nibbled on the blonde’s neck. “Shut up, it wasn’t a—Ah!--ploy.” Kaveh opposed. The scribe chuckled, he brushed against his roommate’s prostate to work him out even more, Kaveh gasped, it was becoming harder and harder to defend himself.

“You were here last week, weren’t you?” Alhaitham asked. He lifted Kaveh’s hips with a slight angle and pressed down on his groin. The blonde whimpered, the unexpected pressure was making him even more sensitive as more blood rushed to his lower body.

“I thought a bright man such as yourself would at least think to hide away his shoes.” Alhaitham continued. He was shamelessly badgering Kaveh, enjoying the sight as he squirmed and tried to cover his blushing face with his hands.

“Ah, I see. You’re not embarrassed because you heard it, you’re embarrassed because you liked it.”

“Please—” Kaveh pleaded.

“You laid here and fucked yourself like a freak, didn’t you?”

Kaveh was living through an insane thrill, he was desperate against Alhaitham’s claims, they were terribly accurate, as if the scribe could read his mind. Hearing Alhaitham belittle him usually annoyed Kaveh, but in the heat of the moment he felt euphoric, an overload of emotions as his body fluctuated between shame and pleasure.

Alhaitham’s eyes had darkened, an evil grin was sculpted on his face. He wrapped his fingers around Kaveh’s dick and slid his hand up and down. “Didn’t you?” he repeated the question, not that it needed an answer, but hearing Kaveh admit to his degeneracy would simply be delicious.

Tears pooled around Kaveh’s eyes as he struggled to talk, “I hate—” but before the blonde could say “you”, he released so intensely that his vision went dark for a second. Ropes of cum shot out in between them as his body spasmed and released.

Alhaitham hummed, “Ironic.”

#genshin smut #al haitham #kaveh genshin #haikaveh #kavetham #alhaitham x kaveh #character x character #kaveh smut #al haitham smut #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin impact kaveh #genshin impact

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starlitquil · 2 years ago

Text

Protego - Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Tags: protective sebastian, aka "I will kill him for what he did to you" sebby

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNINGS: implied assault, blood mentions, leander, leander slander

A secondary trigger warning is placed where certain things begin. Read at your own risk.

-- A/N : Thank you for the love on my first fic! Well okay, first fic posted on tumblr. It means a lot to see my work be appreciated. I love doing subtle x readers, where they're def story driven, like this one, but I have a few in the works that are also purely fluff and more with everyone's favorite Slytherin. Yes the Leander content warning is meant to be slander. I do not like him but can not explain why. I just wanna throttle him. He just? Fills me with unbridled rage?? AnYWAY

Also! I'm going to open my ask box up for requests soon ish, with a post on who I want to write for, and my limitations.

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You were never one to be late or not make notice that you would be. Sebastian had sat waiting for you near the lake by the castle, where you had planned to meet for a study session and, a more private, lunch together. The man knew you too well. Something was up. If you had to cancel plans, you'd make sure an owl was sent ahead of time.

Sebastian stood from his sitting position on the blanket he had laid out, making quick work of cleaning up everything he had laid out. He ran back to the castle, floo flaming across it's expanse in search of you. Finally, he darted through the clock tower, finding you on unconscious and bloodied, hidden away in a corner. Your robe was discarded and nowhere to be found, your vest and shirt torn open on the back from a clear shot of diffindo. You back was still bleeding, a small pool had formed on the wood beneath you.

Sebastian made hasty but gentle work of flipping you over, gasping and looking away from your unbuttoned vest and shirt. He unbuttoned his own cloak and layed it over your indecent form, gently picking you up bride style. Your body was limp in his arms, and his heart pounded in his chest as he speed walked to the nearest floo flame, and made haste to the hospital wing.

He was so careful with you, watching your face as he trudged into the hospital wing.

"Nurse! Please!" he cried anxiously, tears welling in his eyes. The nurse hurried over, assessing the situation.

"What happened?" she asked, looking between Sebastian and your limp form. "Come, lay her down," she added, gesturing for him to follow.

"I- I don't know! I found her like this. She's hurt, bad." he said, following the nurse. She gestured to an empty bed, and he layed your form down gently, his arm on your back now covered in your blood.

The nurse used a quick spell to flip you over gently, laying you on your stomach. "It's good you got her here when you did, let alone found her when you did. Where was she?" she inquired, looking to the Slytherin.

"Well, she was late to our study session by the lake, and I knew immediately something was wrong," he explained, drawing in a self comforting breath. "She always sends an owl if she'll be late or has to cancel. Anyway, I packed up and searched the whole castle, and found her at the top of the clocktower, hidden away in a private space. She was already like this when I got there, and no trace of anyone else. She was indecent when I flipped her over, so I covered her with my own cloak." Sebastian was speaking quickly, his heart racing from the stress of everything happening.

The nurse gently pushed his shoulders down and towards a chair next to your bed. She handed him a glass of water and a stern look, and he nodded, taking his time to drink the glass.

"I'll need to do some work on her. You can wait here, but I'll be moving privacy screens," said the nurse, who offered him a look of sympathy. She could easily gather that the two of you were close, inseparable even, and knew just how it felt to be in Sebastian's place. "I promise you can stay with her after I'm done. I'll even allow you to be excused from the rest of your classes for today, and send for a fresh shirt," she added, Sebastian looking down at his stained sleeve.

Sebastian drew in a shaky breath, nodding. "Thank you," he said quietly. Other nurses had made their way to the hospital wing, joining the other behind the privacy screens she had levitated in place.

More time passed the Sebastian cared to keep track of, and was startled out of his thoughts when the privacy screens began to move, revealing your cleaned up and stitched backside, his own cloak floating down and covering the injury.

"She will be just fine, but she had to be made more indecent for us to do our work. I hope you don't mind us using your cloak again," she said plainly, mindlessly taking Sebastian's empty glass.

"Y/N could keep it if she so desired," he said, semi absentmindedly. The nurse smiled and placed a gentle hand on the Slytherin's shoulder.

"Stay with her, okay? Call me if she wakes. We need to get to the bottom of what happened." she said, her eyes meeting with Sebastian's. He nodded quickly, returning his gaze to your unconscious form. Your face was at least turned towards him, so he could watch you easier. He gently slipped his hand into yours, sitting and waiting.

Sebastian didn't know how much time passed. He didn't dare look away from you, keeping a firm gaze upon you for any waking movement. What he did know that it was daytime when he brought you here, and a glance at the window nearby suggested sunset was setting in. Your form made a small noise, bringing Sebastian's gaze back to your face.

Your eyes fluttered open, squeezing back the hand that held yours. Your body ached. But you weren't where you could last remember being. You started to shuffle to move, but Sebastian stopped you, as did the searing pain that caused you to cry out.

"Don't move - let me get the nurse," Sebastian said, rubbing a finger down your cheek as he stood. Nurse? Your vision cleared a little and you recognize the walls and privacy screens of the Hogwarts hospital wing. The nurse and Sebastian were quick to return.

"Glad to see you're awake, dear," her voice came, from somewhere to your left. "How're you feeling?" she asked, making her way into your vision.

"Sore." You stated simply. It hurt to even speak, and breathing stretched the wounds on your back in a painful manner. Sebastian sat back where he was before.

"What happened, dear?" the nursed prodded. You clenched your jaw. "You know I have to ask." she added, seeing the look on your face. It wasn't a pleasant expression, you face had contorted into a combination of fear, anxiety, and dread.

"...May I tell you tomorrow..." you said, after a pause. The nurse simply nodded.

"Sebastian, you may stay here with her tonight." the nurse looked to your companion. "Watch over her, you may take the bed nearest her." Sebastian nodded as the nurse headed off, the night shift nurse coming in to take her place. The two nurses exchanged words neither of you could hear.

"Would you tell me who did this?" came Sebastian's quiet, gentle voice. You shook your head.

"Tomorrow, I promise." you answered, implying by his question someone did do this. His brow furrowed. You reached up in a struggle to place a hand on his cheek, offering him a smile. He put his own hand overtop of yours, turning his head to kiss your palm and smile back down at you.

You fell back asleep quickly, Sebastian kissing your forehead as you did. You could barely make out his figure making his way to the bed nearest yours as you drifted off to sleep.

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The next morning you awake to Sebastian's sweet face nearby. He was no longer in the bed he had taken up, but fast asleep in the chair he was in yesterday, head hung as he slept, one of his hands was warm in your own. You squeezed it gently, the freckled man's eyes fluttering open. He smiled at you as he met your eyes, leaning in to plant another warm kiss on your forehead. You felt your face brighten a deep red. Unfortunately for you, you couldn't turn away to hide your blush without pain.

"Good morning, you two," the nurse from yesterday strolled up. "Glad to see you're both awake. Y/N, your wound should be healed enough so that you can flip over and sit up mostly comfortably, if you'd like to try," she mentioned. You nodded quickly. This position was getting uncomfortable, and fast.

"Be a dear and help me Sebastian," she said, hustling over to your other side. The two of them helped you flip over and sit up, with grimaces and gasps of pain. You relaxed into the new position, the pain subsiding for now.

"So," the nurse started, placing her hands on her hips. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" she said, her tone was gentle with a hint of firmness.

"I- I will but... do you have --" your sentence was interrupted by Leander Prewett. Your jaw clenched at the sight of him, the memories from yesterday came flooding back.

"There you are! I'm so glad you're okay!" he said, offering a wide smile. You didn't return the smile, wrapping your arms around your waist. You mustered up all your mental strength not to shake in fear at the sight of the boy, watching him weary eyed as he approached.

He stopped at the foot of your bed, still beaming. You watched his eyes wander to your semi exposed chest, and you made quick work of using Sebastian's cloak to cover yourself.

"I am indecent. Leave me." you said plainly to Leander. Your brow was furrowed in anger, and you eyed him intensely. His smile was quick to fade, your grip on the cloak was so tight your knuckles widened.

"But-"

"I said go!" your voice was raised this time. Sebastian and the nurse shared a look. "You are the last person I want to see," you said harshly, pointing towards the hospital wing entrance.

The nurse wordlessly ushered Leander out, returning to your bedside.

"What did he do to you?" she asked firmly.

"He's the reason I'm here-" you said, your body shaking. Tears burnt at the edge of your vision.

"What!? What did he do?" she pried. "Listen, I know you don't want to open up about it. But as the nurse it is my duty to report all incidents." she said, rubbing your shoulder. You shook your head, shoulders shaking lightly with a sob.

"I have an idea. Stay with her." the nurse looked to Sebastian who only nodded, brow knit close and cold. You knew that face. Sebastian didn't even have to know what Leander did to you. But what he did know is that he would ring his sorry, bastardly neck. You met Sebastian's eyes and reached for him, both arms open to him. He sat down on the edge of your bed and put his arms around you gently, holding you as you cried.

The nurse returned a few minutes later, struggling to carry something that sounded heavy.

"Here. You can show me the memory itself." she said. You pulled away from Sebastian, and a pencieve filled your vision. You nodded quietly, grimacing as you reached for your wand, lifted it to your forehead and drew out a magical strand of energy, tears streaking your cheeks.

"Both of you... please... it's not easy but I need you both to know..." you said, sniffling. You placed the strand of magic in the water, Sebastian standing to walk around the bed and prepare to dip his face into it's depths. The nurse and Sebastian shared a nod, then dipped their heads in.

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[TRIGGER WARNING FOR THE UPCOMING SECTION]

The nurse and Sebastian both had found themselves in a private spot in the clock tower. The vision was of you and Leander, talking.

"Y/N, I-" Leander spoke clearly. "I've got feelings for you. Ever since you beat me at summoner's court."

Sebastian felt his blood boil watching the memory. But he knew there was more. You weren't injured yet.

"Oh! I.." you began to reply, unsure of what to say. "I'm flattered but I-" before you could finish speaking, Leander had pulled you in and spun you around, so that you were against the wall. Your breath escaped your lungs as he crashed his lips onto yours.

Leander's hands worked to unbutton your vest and then your top, his hands brushing against your exposed bare chest, palming your breasts.

Before he could go any further, you mustered up what ancient magic you could, and used it to strengthen your arms and push him away. He stumbled backwards, his facial expression turning cross. He pulled out his wand and cast diffindo. Instinctually you turned to dodge, but instead, your breath left your body once more as the magic he cast sliced into your back, knocking you out almost immediately. You collapsed to the floor, Leander running away in your slowly fading vision.

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Sebastian and the nurse withdrew their faces from the pencieve. The nurse had tears of her own now flowing down her cheeks. "Here, I have a few bottles. Put that same memory in those bottles. The headmasters and the ministry must be made aware." she said, wiping her face and making quick work of gathering the bottles.

Sebastian's face was twisted in a deep anger, his knuckles whitening from his tightening grip on the edge of the pencieve.

"I'll kill him!" he said, voice raised. He was about to turn to leave before you quickly grabbed his hand, wincing at the pain that rippled through your back.

"Sebastian, please." you said quietly, your voice cracking. He stopped in place, not letting go of your hand, his back to you. "I need you hear with me, darling," you said. It was your heartbroken tone that made Sebastian's own heart crack. His shoulders relaxed and he turned back towards you, sitting at the edge of your bed.

"I'm sorry. I'm here." he said, kissing your forehead and cuddling in close to you. The nurse returned with two specially made bottles. You knew just what to do with them. You pulled more strands of magic from your forehead of the memory, bottling it up tight.

"I will ensure the headmasters and ministry both get these as soon as possible. Sebastian, stay with her. The ministry will not let him get away with this, I assure you." she said, patting his shoulder.

Sebastian nodded, resting his head on your shoulder. You rest your head on top of his, kissing the top of his head before doing so.

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Weeks had gone by, and rumor had spread fast. Not about you, about Leander. A few students had seen him being carted off against his will, being drug by the arms by two older wizards in Ministry attire.

The headmasters had made sure someone saw so you would be aware by word of mouth that he was gone for good, but also so that it was purely about him. What he did was up to speculation, but it was honestly quite entertaining to listen to the various things your classmates came up with.

The headmasters had also called you in to speak with you and state they had a cover story for your injuries, and one that was believable. You made sure it was all your classmates knew.

You and Sebastian walked arm in arm out of one of Hogwart's many exits, making your way to the lake, where you had planned to study at a few weeks ago. You had both missed a good portion of time from class, and needed to catch up, and soon.

You winced a little as you helped Sebastian lay out the picnic blanket, and used levioso to place the food and books he had brought with him.

The afternoon had gone by quick, and the work you had caught up on brought you to the beginning of sunset, the sky a beautiful orange tone.

You giggled at a joke Sebastian made, playfully smacking him in the arm. In reply, he told another insufferable joke, and you walloped him again, this time losing your balance landing on top of him, his breath escaping his body as his back met the ground below him. Your back was healing well, but it still ached in pain.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you sat up on your elbows on either side of his head. There was a comfortable silence before you broke out laughing, gazes not breaking from each other.

Your face was a bright red, and so was his. Without even thinking, you put your lips to his, a small gasp of surprise coming from the Slytherin below you, his lips moving to kiss you back. You pulled away quietly, face red with heat.

"Sorry I don't know what came over me!" you were quick to speak. He fidgeted with an arm and put a finger on your lips.

"Don't you dare be sorry, darling," he said, gently dragging his finger down to your chin and pulling you into another kiss. You giggling into the kiss, running one hand through his chocolate curls.

You pulled away again, eyes meeting in another comfortable silence.

"Thank you for being there for me." You said, smiling at the man below you. He smiled back at you.

"It is the least I can do for you, Y/N." Sebastian said knowingly. You replied with a knowing nod.

"I love you, Sebastian Sallow," you said your gaze intense. You didn't even realize what you had said until he reciprocated.

"I love you too, Y/N. You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that, my darling," he replied, leaning up to kiss your forehead.

Your face burned bright, the gears turning in your head.

"What are we now?" you asked, unsure of what else to say.

"Will it make it easier if I ask you out, my darling?" he asked, his charm slipping through. You simply nodded.

"Y/N, will you do me the honor and pride of being my girlfriend?" he asked, smiling at you cheekily. You smiled back at him.

"Yes I will, Sebastian Sallow, forever and always." what you replied was a promise. What he replied was also a promise.

"I will always protect you,'' he replied, pulling you in for another kiss. Your lips moved in sync, his hands rubbing up and down your body gently.

You pulled apart and finally got off the poor chap, wincing lightly as you lay at his side, head on his chest, arm around his torso. One hand of his was on top of your own, the other wrapped around your shoulders.

You would be okay. With him by your side, you would be okay.

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#sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarst #starlitquill #starlitquill writes #starlitquill masterlist

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